


bite your friend like chocolate

by selflessbellamy



Series: bite your friend like chocolate [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Football player!Bellamy, High School, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-08-14 06:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16487180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: Fall leaves and just a few stars speckled on the pitch-black sky; she should’ve lost her V-card tonight — at least that’s what she had decided. But that kind of planning never works, so instead of making out with Finn against some wall at the party, Clarke’s walking with hurried steps towards her best friend’s truck, dressed as the “cool” version of Sandy Olsson.“Hey Sandy,” Bellamy greets her, hanging out of the open window as a wide grin spreads across his face. “Wanna go for a ride?”(or the one where Clarke chooses therightperson)***RUNNER UP IN THE 2018 BFWA FOR 'BEST SMUT FICTION'





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is almost finished, so the parts will be updated regularly :) hopefully over this weekend and the beginning of next week. hope you enjoy <3

 

Fall leaves and just a few stars speckled on the pitch-black sky; she should’ve lost her V-card tonight — at least that’s what she had decided. But that kind of planning never works, so instead of making out with Finn against some wall at the party, Clarke’s walking with hurried steps towards her best friend’s truck, dressed as the “cool” version of Sandy Olsson.

“Hey Sandy,” Bellamy greets her, hanging out of the open window as a wide grin spreads across his face. “Wanna go for a ride?” 

At that, she snorts before opening the passenger door and getting into the car. It’s late October, but she somehow still managed to underestimate how cold it was going to be, her leather jacket useless against the freezing winds. Prepared as ever, Bellamy hands her one of the blankets that he keeps behind the seats. 

Shuddering, Clarke takes it and wraps herself up. “Thanks for saving me.” 

“Anytime.”

For a moment, she smiles at him, prompting him to wink. Laughter bubbling in her stomach, Clarke reaches into her purse to find a makeup wipe to remove the tacky, burgundy lipstick. “I don’t know why I agreed to go. I don’t even _like_ Grease.” 

To be fair, she likes the soundtrack, even if that’s just it. Clarke never was a fan of the underlying message in the movie that Sandra needs to change who she is in order to be with Danny. Bellamy points out, “But you like _Collins_ ,” and she detects some bitterness clinging to his words, which isn’t surprising. 

He really can’t stand Finn. Despite this, he’s been very nice about Clarke wanting to date him.

Sighing, she waits half a minute before admitting, “I didn’t sleep with him, you know.”

His dark eyes grow wide. “You didn’t? Wasn’t that the plan?”

“Yes. But I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Can we just get some food?”

When they’re out late, Bellamy and Clarke always buy a chocolate shake and a large order of fries to share as a midnight snack. While she occasionally dips a fry into the sweet drink, Bellamy finds that outrageous and takes sips from it instead. But he’s come to respect her unconventional food habits, mostly because she is very outspoken about her love for everything _he_ cooks, even when he thinks it tastes like shit.

Tonight, they’re eating inside the car because it’s simply too cold to sit in the back. This suits them just fine as well, Grouplove’s _Tongue Tied_ blasting from the old car radio. Clarke offers him the last fry, bringing it to his lips, which makes him roll his eyes in amusement before he eats it. 

“Finn’s jealous of you,” is what she says then, taking him by such surprise that he almost chokes.

“What? _Why_?”

Well, she really didn’t think this through. Now she has to explain it, because she can’t lie to him. Feeling heat rush to her cheeks, Clarke mumbles, “He thinks we’ve had sex.”

His eyebrows shoot up. Sure, they have been friends — _best_ friends — since their freshman year, but they’ve never compromised that. Still, this doesn’t change the fact that _non-sexual_ intimacy is a big part of their relationship, which is why they can be seen embracing each other in the hallways and giving one another more-than-occasional cheek kisses. Maybe that’s what confused Finn Collins. 

Disbelief coating his tone of voice, Bellamy asks, “He told you that?” 

“Well, he told me that he doesn’t believe that I’m a virgin, that he didn’t want me to lie to his face about sleeping with you. And he tried to hide all this shit under his ‘Nice Guy’ attitude.”

Running a palm across his face, Bellamy groans. “You dodged a bullet, Princess. If he doesn’t think you’re a virgin, he wouldn’t have treated you right.”

Something about his words makes her heart leap in her chest. While his eyes remain trained on the road ahead, hers suddenly fixate on his hands gripping the steering wheel before they drift to his sharp and clenched jaw. There’s no use denying it: Her best friend is _attractive,_ to say the least, his curly hair a mesmerizing kind of chaos. 

To prevent them from studying him any further, she closes her eyes. Biting her lip, Clarke fidgets with the edge of the red blanket and fights to hold the question captive in her throat. Yet it falls out nonetheless, “… Would you?” 

“Huh?” 

 _Fuck…_

Instantly, she turns her gaze away from him and pretends to be looking at something through the window of the passenger door, but because the glass is foggy she can’t use this excuse not to meet his eyes. 

As she worries her lower lip, she prays that her voice is nonchalant when she clarifies, “Would you treat me right? … Hypothetically, of course.” 

Clarke catches a glimpse of his face just as his brow furrows, which makes her heart pound in her throat. When he speaks up, she battles the urge to squeeze her eyes shut. “Would I— would I treat you right if we… _hypothetically_ had sex? Seriously, Clarke, what kind of question is that?” 

Acting as if those words aren’t a massive blow to her chest, she worries her lower lip and averts her gaze again. “Sorry. Just forget it.”

She senses him staring at her as heat rushes to her cheeks, but to her utter surprise he pulls over, into a mostly-deserted Target parking lot. Once he’s killed the engine, Bellamy turns to her, leaning close enough that his breath brushes her skin. “Hey, look at me. Please.” 

Reluctantly, Clarke does as he asks, only to be met by the incredible softness in his eyes. At first she mistakes it for pity, but then he sighs, “I just meant that… _Obviously_ , I would treat you right. I’d hate myself if I didn’t.” 

Yeah, that sounds like him. Being a good man comes as naturally to him as breathing, and — unlike Finn — he doesn’t have to plaster on a ‘Nice Guy’ attitude, because he really _is_ a nice guy, otherwise they wouldn’t be as close as they are. She smiles at him in relief, but it falters when his fingertips start to caress her knee, because that light touch is enough to make her nervous for some reason. 

But she still longs for it when he pulls his hand away. 

Suddenly he clears his throat. “Want me to drive you home?”

“That’s why I called you at this ungodly hour, remember?”

When he laughs, the sound is a bit strained, even though it’s as warm as always. After turning the key in the ignition, Bellamy pulls out of the parking lot and hits the main road again, _‘Greek Tragedy_ ’ by The Wombats booming from the old radio. 

They scream along to the chorus together, completely unembarrassed:

 

_“I love this feeling_

_But I hate this part_

_I wanted this to work so much_

_I drew up our plans on a chart_

_Cars are flipping, I'm in hot pursuit_

_My character's strong, but my head is loose_

_She hits like ecstasy_

_Comes up and bangs the sense out of me.”_

 

As the song ends, Bellamy pulls up to the curb by Clarke’s house. In silent thanks, she places a chaste kiss to his freckled cheek before getting out of the car. Noticing how she hugs herself to shield off the cold winds, he stops her. “Hey, Sandy. You can borrow this.”

Then he removes his sweatshirt, and she wouldn’t have taken it if she didn’t know that Bellamy is basically a human heater. Also, his clothes are always so _damn_ comfortable. Pulling it on, Clarke is overcome by the crispy scent of his cologne: pine and rainfall.

She winks. “You’re a hero. See you tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

 

When her alarm goes off the next morning at 6:30 AM she is more than tempted to toss her phone out of the window. With a loud, self-pitying groan, Clarke buries her head in the pillow to avoid the golden sunrays that have started to pour into her room. _Good fucking morning to her._

Like a zombie, she drags herself out of the covers, the only thing tempting her to do so being the thought of delicious waffles. Still, she doesn’t feel like rummaging through her closet for something to wear, so she just pulls on Bellamy’s burgundy sweatshirt from last night and the black leather pants from her Sandy Olsson outfit.

She hurries down the stairs to heat up the frozen waffles just as Bellamy sends her a text.

 

 **6:43 AM:** Morning, Princess. Picking you up in thirty.

Do you need [coffee cup emoji]?

 

He makes the best damn caffeine in the universe. Maybe it’s because he had a part-time job at Ark Coffee last summer, or because he always adds a bit of chocolate in there for her, knowing it’s her biggest weakness.

**6:44 AM:** You’re the real MVP, Blake [pink heart emoji]

 

Her hair’s not working with her today, so she traps it in a loose bun with a black scrunchie and frowns at reflection in the mirror. At least she smells good, his cologne still lingering on the fabric of the sweatshirt. Anyway… _it’s waffle time._

Unlike her, Bellamy is a morning person, always wearing a boyish grin when he comes to pick her up. It wears off on her, making her feel less grumpy as soon as she catches the sight of him.

When he hands her the coffee in a thermos mug, she instantly forgets how tired she is. 

Then his eyes _really_ settle on her, on her chosen outfit, which has a lopsided smile growing on his lips. Taking a sip of the coffee, Clarke raises her eyebrows. “What?” 

He turns the key in the ignition, the engine coughs before starting. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that if Finn thought we were fucking before, this will make him lose his _shit._ ”

Though she feels her cheeks burning a little at that, Clarke manages to remain nonchalant. “Good. I want to annoy his ass as much as possible.” 

And that is true. _Honestly, who cares if Collins thinks that she’s sleeping with her best friend?_ The only important thing is that they know they’re not. Maybe it will make Finn leave her alone, because she doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Still, there’s a strong possibility that he thinks he can get away with acting like he did last night. 

To that, she says: _No fucking way._

Next to her is the guy who’s golden like fall leaves; who reminds her that she doesn’t have to settle for anything less than she deserves. _Bellamy…_ he’d be there for her through Hell and back. There’s no doubt about it.

 

Though they have to part to go to separate classes, Bellamy mouths at her temple in teasing when they reunite in the cafeteria to have lunch. “Ay, you survived AP biochem.”

“Yet again,” she chuckles, giving him a light shove before they sit down. When her mouth waters at the sight of his tomato/mozzarella sandwich, he splits it in half to share it with her, and in turn she gives him half the portion of her fries. 

Some people might argue that this is weird, but to them it’s way more exciting than simply being limited to your own choice of food. For four years, the act of sharing their delicious lunches has been standard procedure in their friendship, so nothing about today is different to them.

Well, at least it isn’t until Finn Collins shows up uninvited.

Bellamy glares at him, and Clarke tries not to do the same, even when he asks her, “Hey, where did you go last night?”

Despite the mild appearance of his question, possessiveness lingers at the edges of it, so she stabs a grape with her fork in pure annoyance. “Home. But it’s really none of your business.” 

In silent support, Bellamy’s foot pokes hers under the table. Still, Finn isn’t done, reaching for her hand as he mutters, “I was worried about you…” 

Clarke snorts at that claim and dodges his touch. “Yeah, sure. I’m just a little confused as to why you think that makes you entitled to know where I am at all times.” 

Glancing at Bellamy, she sees his facial expression radiate: ‘ _slay him, Princess,’_ and that has her feeling even more confident. Since it’s obvious that she’s not going to let him off the hook, Collins decides to act like a fucking child, throwing an insinuation in her face. “Bet you ditched me for _him_ ,” Finn proceeds to scowl at Bellamy, who couldn’t be less intimidated… or more furious. “Anyway, I hope it was a nice ride.”

That does it. Bellamy slams his hand on the table as he stands. Even though he isn’t taller than Finn, he’s more muscular, so he easily towers over him nonetheless. Lowering his voice, Bellamy whispers, “I’d watch my mouth if I were you. People might start to realize how fucking _pathetic_ you actually are.” 

In this situation Bellamy somehow manages to resemble a fire-breathing dragon while being calm and collected at the same time. Crossing his arms over his chest, he proves himself to be unshaken, a steady mountain. Right when it looks like Finn has finally found the guts to formulate a response, Clarke pulls at her best friend’s hand. 

“Come on. Let’s go eat somewhere else.”

That’s how they end up on the hood of his truck, finishing the split sandwich and fries. The crisp October wind brushes past her face, and Bellamy leans over to move her hair behind her ear. Meeting his gaze, Clarke sighs, “Thank God I didn’t sleep with that guy.”

“You know you deserve much better.”

She smiles, watching his expression soften. Then her mind drifts to the unusual conversation they had in the car yesterday, and she swallows. Once she’s shaken herself out of the momentary fluster, Clarke nods. “Damn right I do.”

They sit in silence for a minute, enjoying the scent of fall around them. There is something so incredibly peaceful about being in an abandoned school parking lot with your best friend, sharing your lunches like you’re six years old. 

Eventually, Bellamy speaks up, “Will you be at the game tomorrow? It would mean a lot to me.”

Despite his preference for books, Bellamy’s also invested in being the quarterback of their school football team. Since he got the position last year, Ark High has had its best seasons in thirty years, so he knows what he’s doing. 

“Of course I’ll be there.” 

Because she’s always there, no matter what, cheering for him in the bleachers. To her, there’s something exhilarating about watching sports, especially when her best friend is participating in them. Supporting him is the least that she can do to prove how much he means to her…

 

… So when the rain pours from the sky during the game the next afternoon, Clarke is too busy roaring in the stands to give a shit. Hell, she didn’t even bring an umbrella like any reasonable person would’ve done, because she needs her hands free to clap and raise her fist towards the angry clouds. 

“GO BELLAMY! GO!” 

She praises the universe for her front-row seat, because this game is a _good_ one.

And yeah, she might be yelling louder than the cheerleaders. No shame detected whatsoever.

When the scoreboard at the referee’s final whistle shows Ark High in the lead by twelve points, Clarke jumps from her seat in triumph and searches for Bellamy in the huge lump of embracing players at the middle of the field.

At the second she sees him detach himself from the bundle, Clarke runs towards him with crash-into-chest speed. But somehow he notices her just in time to _lift her off the ground_ when she comes close enough, holding her by the waist. Laughter bubbling in her chest, she pulls off his helmet and runs her fingertips through his hair, which feels sweaty at best. Still, she couldn’t care less.

He grins at her, pressing a hand to her lower back, so that warmth seeps from it and through the rain-soaked material of her shirt. At once she feels enveloped by him, his scent and strength, which has her lips parting ever so slightly. As opposed to questioning this reaction, Bellamy chuckles, then carries her across half of the field in some sort of momentum. 

“Okay, dude. You’ve shown me off now,” she giggles, ignoring the heat in her cheeks.

Bellamy puts her down, but not without pulling her into his side as soon as her feet have touched the muddy ground. Leaning in, he whispers, “I have to take a quick shower. Here are the keys to my car. I’ll meet you there.”

With those words, he places a lingering kiss to her cheek and leaves the field with his teammates to find the locker room.

As soon as Clarke is inside the car, she pulls off her clammy, wet shirt, which leaves her in a black tank top that’s also damp. Then she starts the car just to turn on the heating system and reaches for the sweater that she was sensible enough to stuff into her backpack today: It’s cotton and therefore _wonderful_. But she becomes distracted by the sensation of warm air brushing her bare skin.

Letting her eyelids flutter closed, Clarke leans back in an attempt to relax. It works for a few minutes until she once again finds herself surrounded by his scent: Pine and petrichor. This time it produces an image of him smiling in her mind.

It’s not as innocent as it sounds: Because he’s in the shower, all bronze muscles and naked skin in front of her.

_No, no, no, no. Rewind. Stop. ABORT._

Instantly, she opens her eyes and kills the car engine. Exhaling, she lets her head fall into her hands and swallows hard in attempt to block the picture and keep it from conquering her mind again. Though it doesn’t, Clarke is encompassed by heat — something that could be easily confused with the feeling of his hands on her back.

Dropping back into the seat, she bites down on her lower lip, trying to censor her mind. But when he appears for a second time, it’s impossible to fight and she just gives up. Releasing a breath, Clarke allows her eyes to flutter shut again.

 _There are hundreds of small water droplets clinging to his skin, and she wants to lick them off, desperate to feel him shudder in pleasure at the sensation. Under her fingertips, his skin is smooth and warm, inviting…_

_What would happen if her hands wandered along his body?_

_Would he grab her by the waist to pin her to the wall and chuckle against her earlobe?_

_“Princess…”_

Alright, that does it. Without thinking about what could happen or where she is, Clarke snaps the button on her pants open, so that her hand can settle between her legs. Her panties are already damp, but there’s no telling whether that’s the cause of the rain or her _(inappropriate)_ fantasy.

Sucking in a breath, Clarke cups her mound, wondering how it would feel if it were his hands. But she can’t imagine a universe where he’d touch her somewhere so intimate. It makes her frown; therefore, she pushes the thought aside and pinches her clit through the lace fabric, making a desperate mewl tumble from her lips.

Heat coils in her lower belly, empowering her neediness. In search of friction, she massages the small bundle of nerves with the heel of her palm. Pleasure shoots up her spine, and as she finds herself on the edge, her mind paints a vivid picture of Bellamy thrusting into her. From _behind…_

She comes with a broken moan, her lips trembling as the sound morphs into a gasp. When she has wound down, her eyes open to the near-embarrassing, very revealing sight of wetness pooling between her thighs. As if she’s covering up a crime, Clarke zips her pants and pulls on her sweater to hide her flushed skin. 

Of course, she tells herself that it _has_ to be a coincidence that Bellamy returns at just the right moment, not a second too early. Also, she chooses to dismiss the pink tint that shows in the freckled skin of his cheeks. But when he fumbles with the seatbelt, failing to fasten it three times, panic shoots through her veins.

So she tries to play it off. “That took you long enough. I was freezing.”

 _False._ It’s safe to call that the most unconvincing lie that she has ever told anyone, and it takes all her strength to prevent herself from cringing as soon as she’s said it.

Bellamy glances at her. “Really? It’s fucking _hot_ in here.”

Though his description is accurate, his tongue curls around the word ‘hot’ in a way that has her thinking that perhaps he isn’t talking about the temperature. Before she has had the chance to figure out what he means exactly, he bites his lower lip and adds, “Besides… I thought I’d let you finish.” 

_That’s it. She’s dead._

_What was she even thinking?_

Battling the urge to squeeze her eyes shut in pure embarrassment, Clarke stammers, “Bellamy, I—“

To her surprise, he raises a hand to keep her from continuing. Then he smiles, albeit awkwardly as he says, “It’s… it’s cool.”

The most logical thing would be to feel relieved, but a highly skeptical part of her mind just keeps yelling ‘ _No, the fuck it’s not cool! He witnessed me pleasuring myself in his car, and the only way he would be okay with that was if…’_

… If he himself has something to be embarrassed about, that he wishes to hide. At first she has not the faintest idea what that might be, but then she notices his reluctance to meet her gaze, his strange fascination of the windshield and the increased width of his eyes. _Shit._

Her heart skips three full beats.

And he still won’t look at her, so suddenly she has to ask, her voice low, “Exactly how much did you see, Bell?”

Clarke can tell that he’s biting at the inside of his cheek before he runs a palm across the length of his face, which can’t be indicating something good. With every passing second, the atmosphere in the car becomes more tense, the silence uncomfortable at best. 

Then Bellamy _tries_ to reply, “I, uh… Well, I—“

Only now does the truth dawn on her, and she can’t help but stare as he rubs the back of neck, releasing a strained sigh. Because he doesn’t say anything more, the question pushes past her lips. “Did you… did you _watch_ me?” 

He clenches his jaw before letting his forehead drop dramatically onto the steering wheel. It’s a good thing they’re still in the school parking lot. After exhaling, probably to brace himself, Bellamy finally turns his face towards her, revealing the self-disgust that dominates his features. She doesn’t want him to feel that way.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to. But you… I couldn’t—You know what? Forget it. There’s no excuse. I’ll shut up.” 

For some reason, his apology makes her upset, and she’s not sure why. Turning her gaze towards the windshield, she tries to prevent her voice from trembling when she says, “You still didn’t answer my question. How much did you see?”

“Clarke, I’d really rather not—“

 _Oh great._ What cuts him off is her sniffle, and hearing that must terrify him, because he instinctively reaches for her hand, but she pulls it away. He gulps, his thumb caressing her shoulder before his forehead drops to it. When he utters an apology again, as soft as it, she erupts in sudden protest, “God, would you stop saying that?!” 

Because it’s not making her any less embarrassed. Her cheeks are burning, so she turns her face away to hide them. When he realizes that it’s no use, Bellamy falls back into his own seat, turns the key in the ignition and pulls out of the parking lot. 

But they haven’t driven for more than a minute in awkward silence before Bellamy chooses to squash it by turning on the radio.

 

_Just take it step-by-step_

_I can see it in your eyes_

_Cause they never tell me lies_

_I can feel that body shake_

_And the heat between your legs_

She is able to tell the exact moment his expression goes from: _‘Please, music. Save my ass!’_ to: _‘Holy shit. No music then’._ Eyes wide, he fumbles with the buttons on the radio in attempt to change the station, but gives up eventually and opts for turning it off. When she turns her gaze away again, she senses him staring at her.

Then, to her surprise, Bellamy turns the steering wheel, guiding the car into the Target parking lot. Instead of being logical, he chooses to park in the booth that’s farthest from the entrance to the store, where no one in their right, lazy mind would want their car to be. 

He kills the engine, but instead of leaving he falls back in the seat, worrying his lower lip. His behavior is so uncharacteristically weird that she can’t help but stare.

Then he releases a breath that sounds like he’s been holding it for way too long. “I watched you. I saw you come, and I couldn’t look away. I imagined how wet you were, wished it was because of me… Does that make me a creep? Yeah. It does. Because I’m your best friend, and you don’t think about me like that.”

Clarke can’t believe her own ears. Her lips parting, she watches the panic spread through Bellamy’s body until he has to clench his fists to keep calm.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” she admits, licking her lip until the impact of her words lands on him, causing him to look at her, slack-jawed. 

Instead of explaining it, Clarke takes off her seatbelt and reaches over to unfasten his, too. Then, ignoring her heart beating a tattoo against her ribcage, she climbs into his lap, which narrows the distance between them right away. As her fingertips splay across his freckled cheek, she gazes at him. 

They’re nose-to-nose, forehead-to-forehead, breathing the same thick air. Boldly, she brushes her thumb over his Adam’s apple, causing it to bob. Despite his obvious nervousness, Bellamy isn’t about to let her go, enclosing his hands around her waist. Though their lips are hovering an inch from one another, it’s difficult to close the distance, their heavy breaths mingling.

When Clarke buries her fingers in his hair, Bellamy finally leans forward to capture her lips with his. It sends a pleasant thrill up her spine that has her smiling against his mouth. There’s nothing wild about the kiss by any means, but after it’s broken they both chuckle to relieve the tension.

Once the heavy atmosphere has been lifted, they surge toward each other with renewed confidence.

As unimpressive as the first kiss was, the second one has them both breathless. Parting her lips, Clarke deepens the kiss, prompting him to make a surprised noise at the back of throat. As he teases her sensitive bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, Bellamy lets one of his hands trail up her spine and wrap itself amongst the golden waves of her hair. He groans into her mouth, which sends delicate tremors through her body. 

And it’s honestly the best fucking thing she has felt in her life. 

Yeah. It even tops the orgasm. 

Eventually, though, they have to part for air. At first the absence of his mouth makes her frown, but she finds a good way to pass the time: Her hand travels shamelessly up his chest towards his sternum, and as if this didn’t leave him properly _shook_ she rolls her hips against his. 

“ _Fuck…_ ” he curses before dropping both his hands to her ass. Smirking, she stills while he gathers himself. After a moment, he continues, “Will you please keep doing that?” Of course, she isn’t about to deny him.

Plus, this is _fun._

Therefore, she grinds against him over and over listening to each groan and blasphemous curse that passes his lips, until she can feel his erection straining against his pants. Intrigued, she lifts herself a little off his lap to look down there. 

_Shit. It’s impressive._

She’s always found it cliché when people described a man’s penis like that, but suddenly it makes sense.

As if she weren’t already staring, Bellamy says, “Uh, you can ignore that.”

Trailing her fingertips along his inner thigh, Clarke watches him carefully: How his eyelids flutter at the touch, his strong jaw slacking. “I have no intention of that whatsoever,” is what she tells him, keeping her gaze locked on his while she bites her lower lip. “I want to touch you.”

He grins. “Go ahead, Princess. I’m not stopping you.”

Mirroring his amused expression, Clarke wastes no more time and palms him through his pants. Even though the touch is experimental, Bellamy throws his head back in bliss. Giving in to the desire pulsing through her veins, she gives him a single, leisured stroke that makes him groan again. This sound might be her new favorite of his — right after his laugh, of course.

“Did you get this hard while you watched me?” she asks when he brings her down on his lap again, ignoring the blush that settles in her cheeks. It’s save to say that she isn’t used to talking to him like this, but it’s a fascinating change.

“Not quite,” he rasps, which has her disappointed until he continues, “Don’t get me wrong. I was still so fucking turned on by it, but I was also terrified that you’d catch me looking and our friendship would be over.” 

In silent reassurance, Clarke brushes her fingertips over his temple. Bellamy runs his hands along her legs, all the way up to her inner thighs, which feels so good that she can’t keep from whimpering. When he asks if he can unzip her jeans, she says ‘yes’ so fast that it’s bordering incoherent, and he chuckles light-heartedly, caressing her cheekbone. 

“Ass up,” he instructs, which does unspeakable things to her. As soon as she’s lifted herself a little off his lap, his hands drag her jeans down just enough to make room for his hand between her legs.

Careful, Bellamy lets his fingers graze her creamy inner thigh, closing his eyes at the sensation. “I never thought I’d touch you like this,” he breathes before remarking, “You’re still wet. _Jesus._ ” 

Because she can tell that he’s dying to feel it, she whispers, “You can touch me. This is all for you anyway.”                    

Although Clarke’s tempted to tell him every last detail of her fantasy in the car now, somehow she’s still afraid that it will throw him off, which is illogical at best considering the fact that touching his hard cock doesn’t weird _her_ out.  

With her permission, he moves the fabric of her panties aside and runs his fingers along her slit, which has a desperate mewl escaping her throat. Taking his time, he massages her inner thigh for a minute before cupping her mound, just like she’d done herself not long ago.

_It feels infinitely better to be touched by him._

Even though she can feel the wetness that rushes from her core and into his palm, she refuses to be embarrassed about it. Instead, she moans, grinding down on the heel of his hand as he presses it against her clit. When she mewls again, he surprises her by slipping a finger into her heat. 

His fingers are much longer and thicker than hers, so it takes her a minute to accommodate to the stretch. Feeling her walls relax around him, Bellamy buries his free hand in her hair. “Come here. Lean into me.”

She does as he advices, resting her forehead on his broad shoulder and inhaling the nice, soapy scent of his skin. Like this, she doesn’t have to do anything, slumped against him while he pumps his finger in and out of her and stimulates her clit with the heel of his palm. 

“I need _more_ , Bellamy,” is what she whines after a few, blissful minutes as she feels herself get closer to the edge. He responds immediately by adding a second finger and crooking them a little until they touch a sweet spot inside her that she never knew existed. 

Groaning as her walls flutter around him, Bellamy flickers one finger against her clit. She tumbles over the edge, has to bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind.

At all… 

When she has wound down, he stops touching her and she looks at him just in time to watch what he does next. As opposed to wiping her arousal off on his pants like she’d expected he would, Bellamy sucks his fingers into his mouth, closing his eyes at the taste. 

Her jaw damn near drops to the floor of the car.

What she finds even more extraordinary is that Bellamy apparently did this without thinking about it, because he didn’t hesitate for a single second. Only when he notices the deep blush in her cheeks does he give it a second thought, “Fuck, was that inappropriate?” 

Clarke shakes her head. “No. Um, does it…? Do I…? You know…”

Honestly, it’s some sort of miracle that Bellamy is able to decode what she’s trying to say. Grinning, he rests his forehead against hers before replying, “You taste amazing.” 

To her surprise, it doesn’t even sound like he’s lying to please her, or saying it because he feels like has to. In fact, she’s convinced that he’s serious, which fucks her up for a good minute until she can only give a nervous half-chuckle in response.

Then she plops back in the passenger seat and gradually comes to her senses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so happy that you guys enjoyed the first part :)

Her eyes flutter open to the sight of the windows, all fogged up from the heat that they just generated together in the small, intimate space of his car. Next to her, Bellamy grunts low in his throat, which causes her to look at him.

_Damn._

That word is an appropriate descriptor right now for two reasons, one being the fact that he just had his fingers inside of her and the other one being how those same fingers are stroking his length slightly through his pants. 

Shaking herself out of the fluster, Clarke says, “I can help you with that.” 

At her words, Bellamy actually stops touching himself, which leads her to believe that he’ll take her up on the offer. Exhaling slowly, he runs his fingertips through his unruly hair. When he speaks, disappointment lingers in his voice. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” 

He bites his lower lip, and she tries not to dwell on how sexy that looks, which is impossible once she has heard his reply, “I’ll just come. And it takes forever to clean the interior of this car, so I’d rather avoid… messing it all up.” 

In order not to focus too much on the dirty images that pop into her mind at this response, Clarke clears her throat and changes the subject. “… Should we get some ice cream while we’re here?” 

Since Bellamy became a part of the football team at Ark High, they have been celebrating his victories (and losses) by raiding Target for as much trashy food as they can find to eat their combined body weight in it. It’s a nice tradition, and even though following it seems weird at best considering how _untraditional_ this night has been Clarke still doesn’t want to miss it.

To her surprise, Bellamy looks at her now, but not only that: He’s _beaming_ with amusement, a boyish grin stretching the corners of his lips apart. “Let’s not forget Gatorade.”

“Sour Skittles!”

They both laugh, which has the awkward post-sex tension seeping from the car like water from a sponge. For a minute you’d think that nothing different had happened, that they’re just two best friends jumping from aisle to aisle in search of the right Doritos.

But it’s not that simple anymore.

 

 

“We’re gonna have to act natural,” Bellamy whispers, looking no less than terrified as they’re walking up the driveway towards her parents’ house. “If your parents find out what happened, I’ll lose my ‘good young man’ privileges.”

Feeling nervous herself, Clarke can’t resist the push of sarcasm. “So no mention of you fingering me in your car? Got it.”

All that aside, she understands why Bellamy would want to keep his so-called ‘good young man’ privileges, since they include the permission to take her places constantly and to sleep in her room without supervision.

Her parents’ reactions to their arrival at the house happen to be a perfect representation of who they are as people: Abby Griffin pokes her head out of the kitchen as soon as she hears the shuffling of feet by the entrance to say, “Ah, you’re home. I was beginning to worry.” 

Jake Griffin, who’s significantly more laid back, steps towards Bellamy with a huge grin on his face. “What’s up, son? Did you win?”

“Yup. Twelve points,” he replies, and they clasp their hands together in triumph. 

Over dinner — Jake Griffin’s famous lasagna — they talk more about the game, and Bellamy proves himself to be a better actor than she’d imagined: On the outside looking on, this could’ve been any other Thursday night in the Griffin household, because Bellamy joins them for dinner several times a week. Not only does it make things easier for his mother, who’s on food stamps, but Jake and Abby like having him there.

“Were you at the game, too, Honey?” 

Clarke smiles at her dad’s unnecessary question. “As always, dad. I’m an unofficial cheerleader, you know that.”

Since she was a toddler, she has been watching sports — not just American football, also soccer and ice hockey — with her dad. Even though she can’t remember this, her parents have told her countless stories of how she’d cheer for her dad’s favorite team before she could talk properly. 

Grinning, Bellamy winks at her. “The only reason why they won’t let her join the squad is that she favors one player in particular.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, her cheeks burning. “I know I’m biased.”

“I like your bias, Princess.” 

_Of course he does._

As soon as they’ve helped clear the table, Clarke grabs the tub of chocolate ice cream from the freezer, so they can eat it upstairs in her room: Being the only child of wealthy parents comes with certain perks, one of them being that she almost has the entire second floor to herself, including her own bathroom and a small art room.

When the ice cream has softened enough, they dig into the tub with each their spoon. 

“It’s strange how normal this feels,” Clarke remarks out loud, breaking the comfortable silence. At her words, Bellamy looks at her, a small smile growing on his lips. “’Cause I’m kind of screaming internally.”

Then he laughs, the sound of it a little tense. “Yeah. Welcome to the club.”

The atmosphere in her room changes once their eyes meet, and they gulp at the same time. Suddenly, she doesn’t feel like eating the ice cream anymore. By pushing the tub to the side, Bellamy proves that he doesn’t either. “What’s on your mind?”

_How does she even begin to answer that question when a hundred thoughts have jumbled together in her head?_

Swallowing, Clarke sighs, “A whole lot of crap… But I left you hanging, and that really bothers me.”

Sure, he told her that it wouldn’t be a good idea if she touched him, but somehow she still feels bad about the fact that she came and he didn’t. Nevertheless, Bellamy eyes grow even more tender as he reaches out to brush his fingertips across the back of her hand. “Hey, that doesn’t matter. Sex isn’t about reciprocity, not to me anyway… But if it means that much to you, you can tell me about why you chose to pleasure yourself in my car earlier.” 

 _Oh shit._

The truth is about to emerge. 

While Bellamy certainly looks curious to hear about it, there’s a distinct sheepish edge to his smile, which reveals that he feels a little guilty for asking. Maybe he’s also somehow still afraid that she wasn’t fantasizing about him, but she does her best to prove him wrong right away. “Well, at first it was quite innocent. I just… I imagined you in the shower.”

Bellamy’s eyes widen at her words. “ _Me?_ ”

She smiles in reassurance. “Yeah. You.” 

Honestly, spilling the juicy details about what happened in his car earlier is more nerve-wracking than she thought it would be, especially because she has to tell him what she thought of when she came, and that clearly shakes him to the core. So much so that he is unable to speak for a full minute after she’s said it, his jaw slacked. 

Because of his struggle, the only words that will pass his lips in the end are, “Wow…I—”

And then nothing… 

Clarke starts to feel insecure about the whole thing, but then Bellamy pulls her closer by the hand until they’re sitting nose-to-nose again — on her _bed_ this time, which makes it even more intimate.

Caressing her knuckles, he smiles, and she can almost feel the small curve of his lips because there isn’t even an inch of space between their faces. 

“Do you remember the day last year where you walked in on me watching porn?” Bellamy asks suddenly, and she can’t help but crack up a little. Luckily, he follows suit. 

Although they are both chuckling at the memory right now, it wasn’t at all amusing when it happened: 

Like an idiot, Clarke had burst into his room without knocking in hopes that they could celebrate the first day of summer together, but she’d been immediately startled by the sound of exaggerated moaning coming from his laptop. 

 _“What the fuck, Clarke?”_

_Clasping a hand over her eyes, Clarke awkwardly backed into the door before rushing out while sputtering, “I didn’t see anything! I swear!” Which was a fucking lie, because she did — in fact — catch a (very nice) glimpse of his cock in his hand. But she didn’t want him to know it._

They didn’t speak to each other for an entire day after that incident, and in their world that’s a long-ass time. At least they can laugh about it now, a year later. Once the chuckles have died down, Bellamy runs his fingers through her hair before admitting, “The truth is… I was only watching that so I wouldn’t think about you.”

 _Holy shit. A year ago..._  

It takes a moment for that to sink in. As soon as it has, though, Clarke is too curious not to ask if the distraction worked, but he shakes his head. “The porn didn’t. You bursting into my room like that, however, reminded me how wrong it is to sexualize and objectify your best friend.” 

 _Oh no._ That’s what she did today. Guilt pinches at her heart, but then he starts to ramble, “Clarke, you have no idea how much I care about you. I care so much that it hurts to lie, and I can’t do that anymore. What we did today, it… meant something to me. If it meant something to you, too, then we shouldn’t ignore it. Fuck, I don’t think I could forget even if I wanted to, I—“ 

To his evident surprise, she chuckles in relief. “Calm down, Bellamy. You’re right. This meant something. And we shouldn’t let it go.” 

 _So they don’t._ Instead, they smile at each other, aware that nothing will ever be the same again.

As scary as that kind of change sounds, _life can bring it._ They’ll figure it out, because they always do.

 

* * *

 

When Bellamy picks her up the next morning, the sunrays have just begun their battle to conquer the dark sky and a thick carpet of fog lay over Arkadia. At the first taste of coffee on her tongue, Clarke realizes that he’s added a bit of pumpkin spice to it. Honestly, Starbucks has nothing on this guy.

“Good morning,” she grins, playing with a single dark curl of hair by his temple. To her utter surprise, a light pink tint creeps into his cheeks, but then he hums in satisfaction, making her heart flip. 

“We’re still on for tonight, right?” 

They’re listening to _Sweater Weather_ by The Neighbourhood, yet the volume is lower than usual, which allows for casual conversation. 

“Of course.” 

Since they were fourteen years old, Bellamy and Clarke have spent Halloween together. This year, however, they’ve decided that instead of trick-or-treating they are going to stay at Clarke’s house and greet the kids that come by. After school, they’ll raid Target for candy and buy ingredients for the Halloween-themed sugar cookies, which they want to bake in advance.

“You look really cute today, by the way,” Bellamy remarks, bringing her back to reality. Now it’s her turn to blush. There’s nothing extraordinary about her outfit, but she _is_ wearing a burgundy beanie for the first time this fall to cover up her bedhead.

_Oh god, he is actually flirting with her._

“Uh… Thanks,” is the reply she manages, causing him to chuckle. As her eyes meet his in the rearview mirror, she sees them flicker with warmth.

Then her eyes drift to his full lips without permission and she wonders whether they taste of the cinnamon that he sprinkles on his coffee every morning. 

By the time they pull into the school parking lot, Clarke is dying to kiss him, her heart fluttering in her ribcage. Whatever they created together yesterday, it was a good thing — something that she wants to feel again. 

With no more than five minutes until the bell rings, they should be leaving the car, but an invisible power keeps them anchored there next to each other. 

“I…” he starts, fumbling for words. “I feel—“

 _What? What does he feel?_  

Instead of finishing his sentence, however, Bellamy unfastens her seatbelt, which has her heart sinking… but he doesn’t open the door. Now that his movements aren’t limited, he leans closer to her until the tip of his nose grazes hers and their breaths begin to mingle, which gives her immediate flashbacks from last night.

In the end, thinking about that gives her the rush of courage it takes to kiss him. 

Yes, his lips _do_ taste like cinnamon. Not only that; they’re softer than she remembers from last night. Keeping the kiss sweet as he responds, Bellamy cups her cheek, and a couple of butterflies flap their wings in her chest at the delicate touch. Although Clarke doesn’t want to pull away, the limited time forces her to. 

“See you at lunch, Princess.” 

It might sound like the most ordinary thing to say. Still, it’s as if every single syllable has been dipped in affection before it leaves his lips, so when the words emerge her heart grows soft like jelly and she feels giddy, kind of like a pre-teen who’s just been kissed on the cheek by their crush. 

 _Oh fuck._ Does she have a _crush_ on her best friend?

 

 

Sugar cookies are one of the only things that Clarke can cook without burning the whole kitchen down, mostly because she’s been making them with her dad for as long as she can remember. Baking with someone you care about is the most soothing thing imaginable, and piping the cookies with colored icing stimulates her creativity.

Within a couple hours, Bellamy and she have prepared two large trays of sugar cookies in the shapes of ghosts and pumpkins, neatly decorated with white, black, orange, green and red icing. As soon as they’re finished, however, Clarke realizes that there is a potentially _distracting_ component to using icing for decoration… 

… Because Bellamy starts absent-mindedly licking it off his fingers while he rambles on about how many minutes the cookies need in the oven, but Clarke wouldn’t be able to focus on his _words_ to save her life.

Finally, she has to say, “Can you… stop that?”

“What? All I’m saying is—”

She fights a blush from creeping into her cheeks. “No, would you stop licking your fingers like that, please?”

For a moment, Bellamy blinks, puzzled as he looks at his hand. However, the realization soon strikes him, which is evident in the wolfish grin that spreads across his face before he turns to her. 

He wiggles his eyebrows, and Clarke would’ve rolled her eyes if she weren’t so flustered. “Does it bring back memories for you, Princess?”

_Oh yes it does, and he knows._

Her lips parting, she’s trying to form a proper response when Bellamy strides to her and lifts her up on the opposite counter. Somehow taken aback by his strength even though she’s been a witness to it for many years, Clarke stares at him, awestruck until he kisses her. 

He tastes like sugar and comfort; it invigorates her, so she licks into his mouth without hesitation, making him moan. Clarke hasn’t heard that before. Not even yesterday night. Responding to her passion, Bellamy buries one of his hands in her golden hair while the other encloses her hipbone, right by the waistband of her pants. 

When they have to part for air, Bellamy doesn’t draw back. Instead, his lips begin to plant open-mouthed kisses on her sensitive neck, making her breath catch in her throat. Without thinking much about it, Clarke spreads her legs and pulls him by his belt hoops to stand in between them. He releases a low groan and the tip of his tongue darts out to brush her pulse point. 

_That’s it._

Shuddering from the pleasure that shoots up her spine, Clarke pulls back to lean her forehead against his. “We don’t _have_ to bake the cookies right now, do we?” 

His smile turns lopsided. “Nope. We also don’t have to watch over them. They’re inanimate objects. They’ll do just fine if we, let’s say, go to your room for a while?”

While her heart skips a bit, no hint of nervousness can be detected in her body, which is a bit surprising. When she has nodded, Bellamy kisses her again and — keen to impress, clearly — carries her up the stairs without ever breaking the connection between their lips… 

… Like he’s freaking Ryan Gosling from ‘The Notebook’ or something.

“ _Okay_ ,” she chuckles when he has put her down on the rug by her bed. “That was fucking sexy. You have permission to carry me everywhere from now on.” Given that he has proven his ability to carry her across at least half a football field, he should not be underestimated for one second. He definitely _could_ carry her everywhere.

Grinning, Bellamy lifts the tip of his finger to her nose. “I’ll tell you what’s sexy: You not wearing a bra underneath your hoodie, _that’s_ sexy.”

If she wasn’t blushing before, she sure as hell is now. But his words spark her confidence nonetheless, enough that she can tease him. “What would you do if I took this hoodie _off_?”

He blinks, his lips parting. “Not anything you don’t want me to.”

Even though his response doesn’t answer her question in any precise way, Clarke feels as though there are no words that could’ve put her more at ease. Also, they make her wonder why the fuck she ever thought of sleeping with douchey Finn Collins over him — Unless _Bellamy_ always was her first choice.

It makes a lot of sense when she thinks about it. This attraction to him didn’t come out of nowhere, that’s for sure. In fact, she’s quite certain that has been there since the beginning, but she was too afraid to act on it or acknowledge it before. 

“Nice to know,” she deadpans as she pulls the sweatshirt off. 

Then it hits her: _shit shit shit shit…_

There’s no going back.

She’s standing half-naked in front of him, blood rushing to her cheeks. In order to combat her own awkwardness, she laughs and he joins in, runs a hand through the back of his chaotic hair. When the last chuckles have died down, however, Bellamy encompasses her waist before pulling her in for a searing kiss. 

The action steals her breath. To regain it, she moans into his mouth.

Kissing him is _amazing_ , no doubt about that. But for a man who made her come with his fingers yesterday, he is strangely hesitant to touch her boobs. While he’s kissing her, he caresses the sides of the globes with his thumbs, but that’s it. 

(His hands are so warm, so big and she wants them _everywhere._ )

“God, I could kiss you all the fucking time,” he breathes against her lips, his words bearing a sexy gruffness that makes her heart feel fizzy like the Pop Rocks they used to share when they were fourteen. 

She giggles, and the sound is apparently so surprising to Bellamy that he draws back to look at her, his dark eyes gentle as ever. Then he does something that she thought she could only dream about as he bends down to kiss the globes of her breasts. Sighing at the new sensation, Clarke plays with a few soft curls of his hair. The kissing feels nice, but when his lips close around her nipple, she chokes on a needy mewl.

 _Holy shit._  

“Your mouth…” she exhales, her lips quivering around a gasp. 

Bellamy chuckles before sucking on her nipple again after realizing that she likes it. “What about it?” 

At that, Clarke realizes that she doesn’t know how to finish the sentence she’s started. Maybe it’s because she’s not yet become used to expressing her desire for anything sexual. To her relief, Bellamy doesn’t demand a response. Instead, he continues placing hot kisses across her chest until she pulls at the fabric of his t-shirt. 

But he doesn’t react. 

Not until she speaks up, “Take a hint, dammit.” 

Aware that he has the upper hand, Bellamy takes his mouth off her skin to send her a smug grin that could be confused with his regular, boyish one. Winking, he gives in at last, pulling his t-shirt off with one quick motion. 

In their four years of friendship, she has never seen Bellamy shirtless, but she’s hugged and touched him enough to have an idea of how he’s sculpted. Still, he is so much more beautiful than she imagined: Bronze skin wrapped around strong muscles and stars speckled as freckles across his cheeks; the color of his eyes resemble dark chocolate, his curly hair is soft like black velvet. 

When Clarke touches his bicep the warmth seeps from it and into her palm, lighting a spark in her chest. As she bites her lower lip, she wonders if he can feel it, too. If the light in his eyes is any indication, he _does_.

Slowly, Bellamy leans forward to kiss her senseless, his lips moving against hers with such passion that she forgets how to breathe on her own… 

… And she doesn’t want to, either. Sharing the air with him is the most intimate thing she has ever experienced; it makes her want to seep into him.

Licking into her mouth, Bellamy lets his fingertips travel down her bare back until they encounter the waistband of her pants, and Clarke catches herself thinking: _Fuck yes, touch my ass._

As if he can read her mind, he does. Though his hands are careful at first, she lets her teeth graze his pulse point in an eager response that prompts him to _grab_ her ass. Her eyelids fluttering, Clarke laughs against his mouth, his hot breath ghosting over her lips as he chuckles with her. 

Before things can become even hotter _,_ Bellamy nuzzles her cheek and pulls back. “Look, if we’re gonna do this we need to do it right.” 

Clarke nods, feeling how overheated her skin has become. “Agreed.”

Running a hand through his hair, Bellamy picks his shirt off the floor and hands hers to her. “Also, we have to…” he trails off, and after spending a few seconds trying to figure out what he meant to say Clarke snaps her fingers. 

“Shit. The cookies!”

That makes him laugh, the sound of it soothing like honeyed tea. “I _was_ going to say that we have to buy condoms, but yeah the cookies are of the utmost importance. You’re right.”

Mostly to fight off her own fluster, Clarke gives him a light punch on the arm for teasing her. While they’re walking downstairs to finally put the cookies in the oven, she thinks about how they are — as a matter of fact — in desperate need of condoms. If they’re going to have sex (and all the signs point to it at this point) contraception is the last thing they want to lack.

Her mom is a doctor, and it’s safe to say that she would have a proper freak-out if she discovered that Clarke was having unprotected sex.

 

* * *

 

The next afternoon in the car, Bellamy surprises her by pulling an unopened box of condoms out of the glove compartment, and she can’t help but grin at the sight. He, however, appears to be sheepish, scratching the back of his neck. When she notes, “That was fast,” the blush in his cheeks deepens.

Despite this reaction, he remains serious, telling her, “This _doesn’t_ mean that we have to have sex right away — or even ever, if you change your mind.”

Though she had been curiously inspecting the box, Clarke looks up just to reassure him with the soft smile in her eyes. “I won’t change my mind.” Then she leans in to peck the corner of his mouth, which makes it curve upward. “I don’t think you’ve ever surprised me on Halloween before.”

At her addition, Bellamy’s tiny smile grows to a boyish grin that suits his light teasing. “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

 _Oh yeah. Speaking of first times…_

Before she can steer the conversation back to sex, they’re interrupted by ‘The Prince of Try Hard’, otherwise known as Finn Collins, who tabs at the window of the car with his fingers. Right away, she feels Bellamy tense up beside her, most likely from annoyance. Therefore, she murmurs, “Let me handle him,” before putting aside the box of condoms, though she is momentarily tempted to shove it in Finn’s face.

Rolling her eyes at Finn, Clarke gets out of the car to meet him. She crosses her arms over her chest and frowns, giving him exactly three seconds to say whatever he it is that he wants to, “Clarke, I’m so sorry for what I said the other day. I was a douche. Will you please just… forgive me?”

Yikes, his entitlement is actually disgusting. “No.”

Finn blinks as if he expected her to have more to say to him. In reality, she _does_ want to say a lot of things, but he simply isn’t worth it. Still, there is one more thing that she has to make clear. “Leave me the fuck alone. Good luck finding anyone who’s stupid enough to sleep with you.” 

Turning her back to Finn, Clarke flashes a smug grin at Bellamy before she opens the door.

In the evening, they watch ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ together, but they have to pause it roughly every 10 minutes to greet a group of kids in costumes by the front door. To their relief, the sugar cookies are an absolute hit, especially because they aren’t a replacement the default _Trick or Treat_ candy.

“Why aren’t you wearing costumes?” one little girl asks, which is a fair question, because they usually dress up for Halloween, but this year they decided to tone it down and try something else. 

Still, Bellamy can’t resist replying, “We _are_ wearing costumes. She’s a princess.” 

“And he’s a nerd,” Clarke chuckles. Although the girl and her friends appear confused for a second, they soon start to laugh upon realizing that it’s a joke. “Ah, kids are fun,” she remarks once they’re seated on the couch again. Then, out of pure curiosity, she asks, “Do you want any?” 

At her question, he downright _beams_ , which makes her heart flutter in a way that it never has before. “Yeah. Enough that they can band together to tackle me to the ground and make me feel like I’m being squished by all the love.” 

That is by far the cutest thing she has ever heard him say. Smiling, she thinks about how he must have a clear image of it in his mind; it’s his dream for the future, and for some reason it makes her feel all gooey inside. “At least three then?” is what she mumbles. 

“At the _least,_ ” he chuckles, pulling her against his side. 

Damn. She feels compromised. His audacity is incredible. _Seriously, how dare he make her feel so fuzzy and shy?_

Even though they’ve finished joking around for now, she pretends to watch the rest of the movie when in reality all that she can focus on is how safe she feels right here, her head on his shoulder, his arm locked around her waist.

 

* * *

 

There’s always a particular delicacy to their kisses. So even though they’re full-on making out right now, grabbing at each other’s clothes Clarke feels comfortable enough to really enjoy it, because there is no hint of nervousness gnawing at her bones. Sure, they’re standing by the end of her bed and his hands have made their way underneath her sweater, but the newness doesn’t scare her. In fact, it _intrigues_ her.

When he bites her lower lip in teasing, Clarke whimpers. The sound morphs into a chuckle as he sucks at her jawline, right at the spot where he’s discovered that she’s ticklish. As usual, she can’t resist responding to his playfulness with a challenge. “You’ve got a lot of nerve for someone who won’t take my sweater off.” 

His eyebrows shoot up to match the boyish grin that’s growing on his lips. “ _Won’t_? You clearly don’t know me at all.” 

Apparently, all Bellamy needed was permission, because at the next second her shirt is on the floor. Running a hand down his sternum, Clarke grabs the hem of his tee and he lifts his arms to make it easier for her to remove it.

Being chest-to-chest with him like this is so intimate that it has her breathless, the shades of their skin a mesmerizing contrast to one another; bronze against ivory. Bellamy captures her lips in another passionate kiss, which gives her even more reason to map the defined muscles of his arms, back and chest. Groaning into her mouth at the touch, Bellamy lets his hands travel along her spine to find her bra clasp.

“Damn, this must be uncomfortable,” he mumbles after he has pulled the straps down her arms and hereby revealed the red marks that the bra has cut into her skin. Then he presses his lips to them, which has her heart growing soft in her chest.

“It is…” she admits only to add, “So are these jeans, though.”

_Smooth._

At those words, his jaw slacks in surprise, but he quickly collects himself and the wide smile conquers his face again as he reaches in between them to unbutton her pants. Clarke can’t prevent the giggles from rising through her chest then; the first glimpse of nervousness. After placing a hot kiss to her neck, Bellamy kneels to pull her pants down and she buries her hand within the dark curls of his hair. 

“ _Jesus,_ ” Bellamy mutters, his warm hand caressing the back of her thigh. “You’re so beautiful.”

Once he’s said that, her heart flips and she momentarily forgets that his head is at level with her panties. However, she can sense his breath against her sensitive skin, so when he places a lingering kiss to her inner thigh a needy mewl emerges from her parted lips.

“You’re nervous,” is what he determines nonetheless.

While that is true, she doesn’t want it to end. 

Bellamy stands, holding her gaze while he undoes his belt and pulls down his own pants, which leaves him in nothing but his black boxers. “Now we’re wearing the same amount of clothing.”

Licking her bottom lip, Clarke replies, “I don’t think we should be wearing _anything._ ” Stepping into his arms, she keeps her eyes trained on his. “I _trust_ you. Do you trust me?”

“More than anyone.”

In a lot of ways, it’s also really smart for them to see each other naked _before_ they sleep together. Most likely, it will make everything more comfortable for both of them. To lighten the atmosphere Bellamy kisses her, deepening it right away, which causes a moan to tumble from her mouth, and then his fingertips dance a trail down her spine until he’s touching her panties. 

She nods, the tips of their noses grazing, and that’s the last bit of confirmation he needs. Without hesitating, Bellamy hooks his thumbs in her underwear and pushes them down her legs so that she can step out of them. 

Afterwards, she removes his boxers in the same way, though it doesn’t take half as long — and _voilà —_ they’re both completely exposed. 

“Clothes are seriously overrated.” 

“Amen to that. Now, are you going to look at me or not? I mean, you don’t have to. We can do this blindfolded if you want.” 

Bellamy groans at her words despite his amused smile, his cheeks blushing hard enough that you can actually tell, even beneath his brown skin. Then he finally looks down, his gentle eyes settling roaming over every inch of her skin that he hasn’t seen before. “I don’t…” he trails off for a moment, “I don’t understand how you can be more beautiful than I imagined.” 

For some reason, that compliment is too romantic for her to believe it at first. Her voice shyer than she’d like, Clarke starts, “What about—?”

But Bellamy doesn’t let her finish. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He says it so matter-of-factly that it doesn’t sound cheesy.

His brow furrowing, he leans his forehead against hers for a moment before _she_ looks down. Though she’d intended for it to be a quick peek, when her eyes have settled on his cock they can’t look away again: It’s bigger than she remembers, half-hard from their kissing, 

“Hey, eyes up here,” he teases, causing her to chuckle while apologizing. He didn’t stare at her, so she shouldn’t stare at him, but it’s difficult not to when she never thought she’d see him like this.

 _They’re naked._  

And it doesn’t feel weird. When Bellamy’s lips descend on hers again Clarke feels liberated. Moaning into his mouth, she deepens the kiss, making him moan a little before he lifts her off the ground. Even though it’s not the first time he’s done this, it’s different: She wraps her legs around his waist only to be taken aback by the sensation of his fingertips on her ass and her sex against his lower abs.

“Fuck, Bellamy…” 

He carries her across the bedroom to place her on top of the desk. Like this, it’s easier for him to touch her thighs, so that’s exactly what he does, sending heat rushing between her legs. As opposed to closing them out of embarrassment, Clarke finds herself spreading them further. Bellamy groans at the sight, leaning forward to kiss her deeply.

When his lips leave hers, it’s only because he pulls her from the desk again. To her sheer surprise, he turns her around so that she’s facing away from him. His hot breath grazes the shell of her ear, his semi-hard cock brushes her lower back and she moans at the sensation, closing her eyes when his fingertips tangle in her hair. 

“You thinking about me entering you like this?” Bellamy whispers before placing a lingering kiss to her temple. She shudders at the words, gasps when his hands begin to fondle her breasts. “Like you did in my car?” 

While her cheeks are burning, she smiles and reaches back to run her hand down his thigh. Biting her lower lip, she moves her free hand between her legs, but Bellamy notices it before she can start to pleasure herself, interlacing his fingers with hers as he turns her around again.

“As much as I’d love to watch you do that, I don’t have a good view of it when your back is turned toward me.”

He’s smiling wide, stepping a little closer to make their noses graze. Chuckling, Clarke presses her thumb to the dimple in his chin. “Sorry. You didn’t have a good view of it from outside the car either, right?” 

Now it’s his turn to blush, which reveals that he still feels somewhat guilty about watching her without permission. However, given the fact that _she_ chose to masturbate in _his_ car without permission, they’re on even ground — at least that’s what she believes. Finally, Bellamy clears his throat to admit, “Not really, no.”

Clarke combs her fingers through his dark hair, which is soft like velvet. “You have another chance. I encourage you to take it,” she mumbles against his lips while she pulls him back towards the bed.

Getting comfortable, she lies down on top of the white comforter. Next to her, Bellamy sits on his knees, the look on his face is one of appreciation. It boosts her confidence. Once she has closed her eyes, Clarke smirks before telling him, “What you saw in the car wasn’t a good representation of how I usually… _do this._ It’s so much better if I get myself worked up first.” 

With that explanation, she cups her breast and caresses her own body with the other hand. Letting her eyelids flutter closed, for the first time ever she gives herself permission to think about Bellamy, which isn’t difficult though he is sitting right next to her, looking.

“Damn, you’re gorgeous,” he mutters, and she pictures him saying that while he pushes into her. Suddenly it aches between her parted thighs, the need stronger than before, so she allows her own fingers to settle by her heat.

Though Bellamy doesn’t say anything, she hears his breath hitch at the second she begins to touch herself. Eventually he mutters a quiet curse and can no longer resist the urge to touch her, his fingers circling her knee. She mewls at the contact, flickering her thumb over her clit in pure desire.

“Can I help you?”

Despite not being sure how he plans to do that, Clarke nods right away. Because her eyes remain closed, she can’t see, but oh boy does she _feel_ him suck her nipple into his mouth. A strangled moan falls from her lips, which only seems to empower him further: He kisses a soft trail down her ribcage and holds the one of her hands that has settled between her legs. _Oh god._  

“What?” she breathes, shuddering in anticipation. “Do you want to take over?” 

It’s probably tempting for him, but he still says ‘no’. Instead, he tells her to crook her fingers a bit, much like he had done that day in the parking lot. Her breathing quickens right away, electricity sizzling up her spine, but it’s still not the same kind of mind-numbing pleasure as when he did it, probably because his fingers are longer than hers. 

Almost as if he can feel her impatience, Bellamy assures her, “You’ll get there. Just give yourself time.” 

His assessment is correct. A couple minutes later, she comes apart, the orgasm short yet satisfying in its own right. After chuckling against her breast, Bellamy rolls onto his side to lie next to her and kiss her while she winds down from the release. Scooting as close to him as possible, Clarke realizes that he’s not just _semi_ -hard anymore.

Well, she definitely can’t blame him.

She plays with a loose curl of his hair by his temple, smirking a little at the thought of how he could slip into her right now. Even though they both know it’s not going to happen tonight, excitement shoots through her veins as she asks, “Are you going to show me how _you_ do it?” 

Bellamy blinks, his jaw slacking. “Do you want me to?” 

“Hell _yes_.”

And that’s putting it lightly. Since she left him hanging in the car, Clarke has not only wanted to pleasure him but to see him pleasure _himself._ Despite this desire, she assures him that he doesn’t need to show her if it makes him uncomfortable. 

It doesn’t. That’s evident in the way he rolls onto his back and grabs his hard length without any hint of hesitation. 

His long eyelashes flutter, his full lips parting as he begins to stroke himself. He moans in relief, the nails of his free hand digging into her comforter. Now Clarke knows how he must’ve felt watching her in the car, because she _can’t_ tear her eyes away from him, especially not as his teeth dig into his bottom lip. 

Suddenly she can’t hold herself back anymore. “Can I… Can I try?”

His eyes open to look at her, his brow furrowing for a moment until he gathers himself. “Yeah. Sure.”

Of course, he’s trying to be chill about it, but as soon as she’s sitting above him and taking his cock into her hand, Bellamy’s head falls back against the pillow. 

Then it hits her that she really doesn’t know how to do this. So she just follows her gut instinct, starting out by giving him leisured strokes, slowly building them up, twisting her wrist at the base of his shaft. 

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” he moans, his voice dark and gruff. The sound ignites a fire in her belly, making her determined to get him off, to see the most selfless guy on the planet overcome by bliss. Surprisingly, she knows just how to do it. Bending her head, she places experimental kisses to his shaft that take him off guard: His hips jerk forward, his cock twitching a little. 

_Interesting…_

Refusing to think much about it, Clarke fills her lugs with air and takes him into her mouth — just the tip at first, because his size is intimidating. When she glances up, she catches a priceless glimpse of hi face as his jaw drops from the surprising pleasure. He fists at the sheets and bites his lower lip to muffle yet another loud moan, but it doesn’t really work. 

“Fuck, Clarke, you…” he manages under his breath. “You really don’t have to.”

Though her heart swells at his affectionate words, she assures him, “I want to. Will you tell me if I’m doing it wrong?” 

“Yeah, but right now you’re doing… just fine.”

Bellamy smiles to highlight the understatement, causing her to chuckle for a moment. Then she goes back to pleasuring him with her mouth, giving him experimental sucks. Wrapping his fingertips in her golden hair, he sighs and she senses the tension seep from his body at once.

“Watch the teeth, babe,” he mumbles, his voice a little strained. Clarke’s too preoccupied, wanting to follow his instructions, to pay any attention to the pet name when it first emerges, but then he drops it again, clearly caught in a haze. Blood rushes to her cheeks, which she chooses to ignore it in favor of swirling the tip of her tongue around the head of him.

“ _Shit…_ ” Bellamy growls, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, so that his length hits the roof of her mouth. As if she’s acting on instinct, she breathes in through her nose and hollows her cheeks. “ _Clarke_ , pull back. I’m gonna—” he rushes, but she has no intention of stopping just because of that.

A moment later his cock is pulsing as he comes apart in her mouth with a guttural groan. She draws back only to swallow. From what she’s heard, the taste of semen isn’t pleasant, and this time she decides that the rumor is true; it’s salty, tangy and warm, but it’s not _horrible_ or anything.

“How did I do?” is the first thing she asks, beaming with confidence above him when he has opened his eyes. Dazed, Bellamy smiles back and wipes at the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

“You’re fucking _amazing_. You didn’t have to swallow though.”

In light teasing, Clarke rolls her eyes. “And leave you hanging again? No way. It’s really not a big deal.”

Bellamy brushes a strand of hair out of her face, his dark eyes all affection. “Okay.”

Then his smile turns lopsided, transforming itself into a smirk around the word, _“Reciprocity…”_ He gives no further warning before he grabs her wrists and flips them around. Clarke squeals, laughing as her head lands on the soft pillow; when he kisses her, the delightful sound of her giggles disappears into his mouth. In this moment, nothing about the situation seems out of the ordinary: It doesn’t even feel like they’re naked on her bed, because the expected nervousness of something like that is nowhere to be found.

And she knows it’s all because of _him._

Bellamy can always make her feel comfortable without trying. Even as he plants a trail of lingering kisses down her entire body, Clarke doesn’t tense up.

Instead, she hums at the sensation, which is brand new and wonderful, enough to distract her until his head is nestled between her legs. Blushing harder now, she raises herself up on her elbows to watch, her lips parted in astonishment when he kisses her inner thighs and _mound._  

She whimpers as heat coils in her lower belly, causing Bellamy to look up for a moment. “Is this alright?” 

_Oh shit._

_He’s really going to do it._

Baffled, she can’t help but ask, “You want to?” 

With an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her knee, Bellamy explains, “I’ve wanted to do this in _forever_ , you have no idea. Tasting you in my car has only made me want it more.” Though this idea is probably due to her listening way too much to Finn’s fucked up opinions about cunnilingus, Clarke never believed that it was actually something that guys found hot or even appealing.

After she’s given him one final go-ahead, Bellamy seems to be set on proving his enthusiasm:

Without warning, he flattens his tongue against her, shamelessly teasing her folds. The intense jolt of pleasure that shoots up her spine has her seeing stars and squeezing her legs tighter around his head, which only appears to invigorate him further. Keeping his strong hands on her thighs to steady her, Bellamy sucks her clit between his lips for a few seconds before briefly cutting off the stimulation to kiss her labia. 

Then he does it, over and over, until she is fooled into believing that he has settled on a technique. Although it’s certainly working, he abruptly switches it up, his light kissing turning more passionate until he’s sucking at her folds and she’s gasping for air. 

Clarke moans out loud, buries her fingertips in his hair to anchor herself as she feels the orgasm building within her like tidal wave. By biting down on her lower lip, she tries to muffle the sounds that emerge from her throat, but it doesn’t work. When he groans against her core, the realization truly hits: _Her best friend is eating her out._

And he’s not treating it like a chore. He’s enjoying it as much as she is.

“ _Oh… Oh god_ , I’m so— close,” she whines, pulling at his unruly hair.

Once she’s said that, Bellamy is struck by determination, which is evident in how he immediately flickers the tip of his tongue against her clit until she comes apart with a loud cry that morphs into a series of whimpers. Still, even now he doesn’t let up, as he clearly does not wanting the new flow of her juices to go to waste. 

While she winds down, Bellamy makes his way back up her body and settles by her breasts. He adorns each globe with lazy kisses, sucks her nipples into his mouth for a few seconds until she starts giggling from oversensitivity. 

The first question she asks him when she is able to form the words is, “Have you done that before?”

He blushes, just a little. “No.”

In reality, she knew that he hadn’t, because she knows that he’s never had sex. However, this fact makes her even more curious as to why he’s so good at it. “Well, have you practiced?”

His brow furrows. “If by _practice_ you mean have imagined going down on you more times that I’d like to admit, then yes, I’ve practiced.” 

At his admission, her jaw slackens. Still, she can’t help but feel intrigued by it. Knowing Bellamy, Clarke is aware that he must harbor guilt over fantasizing about her before it became clear that she felt the same way. To reassure him that she doesn’t care, Clarke remarks, “That’s hot,” causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners.

“ _You’re_ hot.”

Grinning, she playfully replies, “No, _you_ are,” and they both succumb to laughter at their own childish, cheesy banter.

When he kisses her through the bliss, Clarke can taste herself on his tongue, which fires her up in the weirdest way. They wrestle a little bit just for fun, and after she’s pinned him to the mattress, she pulls at his lower lip with her teeth. 

Bellamy groans, running his hand up her naked back. “Okay. I surrender.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys :) so this is it: the last part. to be honest, i'm a little sad because i really ( _really_ ) enjoyed writing this fic, and i hope you have enjoyed reading it. what this experience has taught me is that i need to write more high school au's.

“God, you’re such a nerd,” Clarke exclaims, all affection before she groans, dropping her face onto the open textbook. They’re studying for a test in world history — the only class they have together this semester — laying on the rug on her room. She’s in high-waisted jeans and a bra, which frequently draws his eyes to her cleavage. Though he tries to be discreet about it, Clarke still catches him from time to time. 

Bellamy ruffles her hair a little in retaliation. “Shut up. I’m trying to help you get an A, remember?”   

Then she leans in to nuzzle his freckled cheek. “I love how passionate you are about this. It’s cute… and kinda hot.” 

At that, he snorts in disbelief. “Listening to me ramble on about the Cold War does it for you, huh?” 

Honestly, he’s making it too tempting to tease him. “You have _no_ idea. Every time you mention the Soviet Union, I get a little bit closer to—“

Bellamy groans out loud despite the smile that’s playing on his lips, “Oh, fuck off.” But his fake serious exterior falters right away as a grin grows to dominate his face. When he puts his arm around her shoulders, Clarke leans into him, and he responds by mouthing at her temple. “You’re being a terrible student, you know that?”

“Well, you’re not exactly a good teacher either. You keep getting distracted by my rack.”

Smirking, Bellamy turns his eyes to the textbook again before he argues, “Then you should’ve dressed appropriately.” 

While she’s never found the teacher/student dynamic very appealing, it’s surprisingly fun to play along, especially because they like making fun of things like this. It makes them laugh, and laughing is _hot._ Almost as soon as he’s said the last thing, Bellamy cracks up and pushes the book away. Unable to help himself, he gives her a light push so that she lies down on the rug. However, she unclasps her bra before doing so. 

“Will I be getting an A now?” 

“From me? Definitely,” he winks before bending down to adorn her breasts with kisses. She chuckles, which morphs into a whimper when he sucks her nipple into his mouth, teasing it until it’s hardened. Then he switches to the other, not wanting to neglect it. But Bellamy isn’t done playing around. “Pop quiz: Who was the leader of the Soviet bloc when the wall of Berlin was destroyed? Don’t worry. I’ll reward you if you get it right.” 

“Mikhail Gorbachev.”

Bellamy’s eyes crinkle at the corners and fill with pride. “You _do_ listen to my babbling. Incredible.”

At that, she can’t help but roll her eyes in affection. “Of course I listen to you,” is what she says, prompting him to chuckle before he leans down to place hot kisses along the column of her throat, which is a sensation that makes her eyelids flutter shut and the smile pull even more at the corners of her mouth. 

“Bell, it tickles,” she laughs, running her fingers through his hair until he pulls back to kiss her deeply. Sighing into his mouth, Clarke pushes herself up, smiles when his hands move to encompass her. Even though she has always known that they fit like two puzzle pieces, the change of their relationship in the past week has only proven it further.

It’s as if they were meant to do this from the beginning. 

And perhaps they were. 

“You smell nice,” he murmurs against the crook of her neck before he drops a sweet kiss to her shoulder. In reality, she just smells of his cologne because she’s worn his sweatshirt all day, at least until they came home and she took it off. Bellamy draws invisible patterns on her thigh with his fingertips, which has her moving into his lap. 

“Well, _this_ gives me some flashbacks.”

“Me too.” 

No matter how much she thinks about it, the night in his car still feels surreal, even more so than the afternoon they spent having oral sex in her bed. It shook her to the core that he’d watched her pleasure herself, that he’d _enjoyed_ watching her. And then desire just took over, transforming a completely normal day into the start of something new. 

Yeah. Thinking about that night never fails to blow her mind.

However, there are also things that haven’t changed at all: They still buy fries and milkshakes to share whenever the situation calls for it; they walk each other to classes, and he brings her coffee in the morning.

More than anything, she’s excited to cheer for him in the bleachers during the football game tomorrow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

This afternoon, the last rays of the sun have conquered the heavy November clouds, leaving the green football field in a golden orange glow. At Bellamy’s second touchdown, Clarke is more than tempted to shout ‘GO _BABY,_ GO!’ instead of using his name, but ultimately decides against it, because she isn’t cheesy enough to pull it off. Or at least she doesn’t _think_ she is.

This game is a close one, the two teams constantly playing catch-up; it’s the kind of nail-biting, edge-of-the-seat excitement that you experience whenever your favorite team is behind at the Super Bowl. 

With three minutes of the game left, Nathan Miller passes the bowl to Bellamy who sprints towards the opposite end of the field with it, dodging players left and right who try to tackle him. Clarke yelps when a guy twice the size of Bellamy nearly knocks him over, but somehow he manages to outrun him. Twenty seconds on the clock, and… 

_TOUCHDOWN._

“Fuck yes! That’s my man!” Clarke shouts, figuring that everyone else is too busy cheering to hear it, but she is _wrong._ Next to her, the cheer captain — Bree Anderson — quirks up an eyebrow.

“Your what?” 

Before she can find the right words for a response, she hears Bellamy call out for her: He’s detached himself from his teammates, his arms open wide to match the grin on his face, and the sight of him so happy sends euphoria shooting through her veins. Determined, she sets into a run towards him, hoping that he will repeat what he did last time. 

_Of course he does._

“ _Princess!_ ” Bellamy roars as he lifts her off the grassy ground. Like she did the last time he won a game, she takes off his helmet, but instead of blushing she crashes her lips onto his, catching him off guard so that he takes an awkward step backwards before regaining control of his balance. Though he deepens the kiss, it doesn’t last for much longer…

Because the crowd of students is still cheering, serving as a constant reminder of where they are.

Still, this doesn’t prevent him from holding her hand while they leave the field together. On the way, they pass Finn Collins in the second row, whose mouth is hanging open, and Clarke can’t help but smirk.

“Shower,” Bellamy says, handing her his car keys. “Don’t do anything naughty while I’m gone.” 

She blushes. “Shut up.”

“Hey, wait,” he murmurs, taking her hand when she turns around to pull her back. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he leans down to press a sweet kiss to her lips. “You can go now.” 

 _Fuck. He’s cute._  

Sure, he’s always been cute in his own, special way, but it’s been even more obvious as of late. And that’s why she can’t dry the smile off her face while she walks back to the car.

 

Breaking the tradition, Bellamy and Clarke don’t stop by Target on their way to her house. _Indigo Puff_ is blasting from the radio when he pulls up to the curb, unfastens her seatbelt and all but carries her out of the car to spin her around.

 

_You’re the one, you’re the one, you’re the one_

_In my heart, in my bones and in my soul_

 

She laughs until the air in her lungs is used up, and he kisses both her cheeks before walking with her to the front door. Had she been wearing a dress, this moment would’ve been like catching a glimpse of the possible future, but thinking about it makes her feel… weird, so she pushes the thought aside.

“We should go upstairs,” is what she whispers once they’re inside, and Bellamy doesn’t hesitate. 

By the time they reach the door to her bedroom, Clarke has already managed to unbuckle his belt. Instead of putting her on the mattress right away like she’d expected, he does something even _hotter,_ crowding her against the wall as he works on the buttons on her blue flannel. 

“Face it, Clarke,” he teases, “You _like_ like me.”

Battling the urge to smile, she raises an eyebrow at him. “What makes you think that?”

As opposed to responding right away, he sucks at her sensitive jawline and peels the shirt off her shoulders. “Well, you kissed me in front of the whole school, for one.” 

She _knew_ that he was going to be smug about this as soon as he got the chance. Rolling her eyes at him in pure affection, Clarke remarks, “How empirical:”

“And you call _me_ a nerd?”

To retaliate against his sassiness, she removes his t-shirt only to be met by the crisp scent of his cologne yet again, but it’s blended a little with the soap that he carries in his gym bag to use after football games. Leaning forward, she chuckles against his mouth, and he wraps his hand in her hair. Though it all feels familiar by now, Clarke knows that _today_ is going to be different. 

Today, it _will_ happen. 

And not because they planned it, but because it feels right.

Seeing each other naked before taking the big step proves to have been a good choice, as it manages to omit the uncomfortable rush of undressing. Together, they have a lot of fun with that part. While she removes her jeans, Clarke turns her back to him to give him a nice view of her ass, especially as she bends down to step out of them, giving him the full effect. 

“Are you trying to kill me? Because I think it’s working.”

She only winks, pushing him lightly until he sits down at the edge of her bed. Then, without warning, Clarke moves into his lap, straddling his waist. “I want to feel you as you grow hard,” is her explanation. “Is that okay?” 

“ _Jesus Christ—_ yeah, yes it is.”

Needing no further permission, she rolls her hips against his and grinds her ass down on his crotch, pretty much giving him a lap dance, without the music of course. He groans, supporting her waist while keeping his eyes soft as they stare into hers. How this guy ever accused himself of objectifying her is a mystery, because it doesn’t matter what she’s doing to him: Giving him a cheek kiss, a lap dance or a blowjob, she’ll always be _Clarke_ to him.

And that means more to her than she can describe.

Her plan works quickly, since he’s fully hard within a couple minutes, but she keeps up the teasing until he’s literally _whimpering_ into her mouth. Moving off his lap, Clarke unzips his pants to pull them down his legs along with his boxers. When his erection is freed, she gives him a couple lazy strokes, watches his jaw slack at the touch. 

“I can’t wait to be inside you,” he mutters, taking her by such surprise that she pulls her hand back, which allows him to take control. Before she’s had the time to process what’s happening, she’s lying on the bed and he’s grinning above her. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.”

“Nervous?” he questions, nibbling a little at her ear while he unclasps her bra. For a moment, she thinks about it only to come to the realization that she _isn’t_ , which is weird because she always expected to be. Still, there’s a possibility that it might show later, but so far it hasn’t. 

“Not really.” 

He seems as surprised by that as she is. “Oh wow. Cool.” With that remark, he runs his fingers through his hair, and then it hits her: _Bellamy_ is nervous, although he’s trying not to let it show. The last person he can fool is her… 

Smiling in reassurance, Clarke sits back against the headboard, which causes his brow to furrow until she kisses him, keeping it patient and deep. Once he’s drawn back, Bellamy rests his forehead against hers as he admits, “I really don’t wanna screw this up.”

Her heart swells for him. “You know that making this a good experience isn’t just _your_ responsibility, right? This is _us_ having sex. We’re good together, Bellamy. I’m sure we’ll be good at this, too.” 

After she’s said that, he exhales in relief before he captures her lips in a searing kiss; it steals her breath right away. When he breaks away, it’s only to remove her panties. Grinning, Bellamy dangles them in the air, “Did you plan this?”

 _They’re lace,_ quite sexy. Still, she assures him that her choice of underwear was merely coincidental. Now that they’ve finished undressing, the seriousness of the situation begins to settle in the room and transform its atmosphere. 

“ _On_ the covers or _under_?” 

“I wouldn’t mind doing it _on_ the covers,” she confesses, shrugging her shoulders. Although she has no evidence to back this up, there’s this idea in her head that having sex with him will be hotter if the blankets aren’t hiding anything. 

Luckily, Bellamy agrees. 

Outside, the sun has already sunk, so she turns on the lamp at her beside table, which creates a soft and intimate lighting around her bed. When she’s lying on her back again, Bellamy lines himself up with her entrance, but makes no move to slip inside her. Still, Clarke feels his erection, hot and heavy between her legs, which causes her breath to hitch in her throat. 

“Okay, on a second thought… Maybe I am a little nervous,” is what she mutters, because being honest with him is crucial right now. Bellamy responds with familiar softness, kissing the corner of her mouth as he caresses her cheekbone. “I wanna do this, but…” 

As opposed to saying anything, Bellamy embarks on a mission to distract her that turns out to be successful: Showing no hint of rush, he maps her entire body with his mouth, spending several _minutes_ kissing every inch of her skin before his head settles between her legs as it when they were here last.

This time, however, is very different. Even though the movements of his tongue against her are far from dispassionate, they maintain a more patient pace, because they have a clear purpose: getting her as wet as possible. 

Clarke’s whimper transforms into a low moan, and she tugs a little at his hair. The hand of his that isn’t steadying her right thigh is clasped over hers, his thumb caressing her knuckles. Heat is coiling in her lower belly, her heart fluttering, and when he draws back without warning she whines in frustration. Despite this, wetness pools between her thighs, causing Bellamy to release a sound of satisfaction. 

Then he lines himself up with her again, gazing at her for a couple seconds before kissing her deeply. Clarke mewls in surprise and wraps her legs around his waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Running his fingers through the back of his hair, Bellamy chuckles, a little nervous. “Okay… Condom. One second.”

When he bought the box of condoms two weeks ago, Clarke took a couple of them and has kept them in her bedside table drawer until now. After finding one, Bellamy rolls onto his back but fumbles with the foil wrapper. It might be due to nervousness or excitement, or both, but it’s cute nonetheless.

She rests her head in her hand and shifts onto her side to watch him. Smiling in affection, she asks if he needs help, causing him to sigh before silently surrendering the condom wrapper to her. In Clarke’s opinion, it’s more fun this way, as she gets the chance to touch _and_ place a lingering kiss to his hard length before she rolls the condom on. 

(For the first time ever she has reason to thank the awkward condom-on-a-banana demonstrations in her sex ed classes)

As they laugh, the tension in the room evaporates like smoke and he flips them around. He smiles above her, drawing invisible patterns on her breast with his fingertip. Looking into his eyes while their chuckles slowly die out has affection for him surging through her chest. Then Bellamy grins boyishly, nuzzling her cheek, and she gets a sudden urge to cry. 

The tears stick to the inside of her throat.

 _She loves him so much._  

Seemingly unaware of the effect that he’s having on her, Bellamy gives her another lingering kiss before once again proving himself to be golden-hearted, “Are you sure? Do you want me?”

Blinking away the few tears that threaten to show, Clarke smiles to reassure him. “ _Yes…_ Do you want me?”

His dark eyes crinkle at the corners. “More than anything.”

_Fuck. He shouldn’t be allowed to say stuff like that._

Just as she thinks that she won’t be able to hold the tears back anymore, Bellamy interlaces their fingers and pushes into her heat, no more than an inch or two, but she still sighs in content, her breath quivering around a small gasp. He groans a little, too, and then they both chuckle, already overwhelmed. 

It takes him much longer to push into her than she’d anticipated, and soon she feels her walls stretch to accommodate him. Though it doesn’t hurt per se, the unfamiliar pressure isn’t exactly comfortable, which brings her to think out loud, “Christ, how are you so big?” and Bellamy bites back laughter. 

“You will hate me for it, but I’ll always remember you said that.”

She rolls her eyes just before he pushes all the way into her, stretching her out until her breath catches in her throat and she has to anchor herself by grasping at his broad shoulders, a strangled moan tumbling from her parted lips. To her surprise, now that he’s inside her it’s not uncomfortable anymore, so she can truly focus on the new sensation: He’s nestled in her heat as though he was always meant to fit there; her dorky, wonderful best friend.

When he speaks, “You okay? It doesn’t hurt?” his gruff voice reveals how _wrecked_ he is, and it’s safe to say that she feels the same way.

“No, it doesn’t.” 

“Thank God, because I really need to—“ Cutting him off, Clarke presses her heels into his lower back, which sets him into motion. At the first thrust of his hips, another moan escapes her parted lips. It hits her then how fucking close they are to each other, that he’s literally moving inside of her, and it feels _amazing._

Her eyelids flutter at the pleasure, so she has to fight to keep them open, but she wants to maintain the intense eye contact with him. As he thrusts again, their lips capture one another. “We’re having sex,” she giggles once they’ve parted and cants her hips up to meet his. From then they establish a nice rhythm that has the pleasure overcoming them to the point where they _don’t talk at all._

That’s a rarity for them.

Still, them not talking don’t mean that it’s _silent_ in her bedroom. In fact, it’s the opposite. At a regular pace, low contented noises escape them to bounce off the walls and mix whenever they kiss. Her breath emerges in small, ragged puffs, trembling under the power of the moans that are released all the time while his is much heavier and strained. 

She runs his hand up his arm to feel his muscles tense from holding him up. For a minute, she’s more than tempted to flip them over and ride him until he finishes, so that he can catch a break, but she doesn’t know if she’ll be good at it. Brushing a dark curl of his hair off his temple, Clarke can sense how close he is to coming, even though he’s doing everything he can to prevent it.

But she’s had enough of his selfless strain.

“It’s okay, Bellamy. Just let go,” is what she whimpers into the blazing air between their lips.

Clenching his jaw, he mutters, “But I don’t want this to end,” and the words poke at her softened heart. 

“It won’t,” she assures him. “You and I, we’ll make this last. I know we will.” 

Because they’ve never turned their backs on one another, and they sure as hell won’t after this. Of course, it’s impossible for her to predict exactly what _will_ happen, but there’s absolutely no doubt in her mind that everything will work out.

As if that was just what he needed to hear, Bellamy gives in to the pleasure and comes apart with a loud, unrestrained moan. He shudders, the muscles of his back quivering under her fingertips, and she feels herself blush hard when his cock swells inside of her, the latex of the condom a thin barrier between them.

Struggling to regain his breath, Bellamy drops his forehead onto her shoulder for a few seconds, and she soothingly combs her fingers through the back of his hair. When he has gathered himself, he kisses her languidly. “I have… I have to pull out.”

Though she whimpers in disappointment, Clarke knows that it’s inevitable. Still, the couple moments in which he is on his back next to her, occupied with tying and discarding of the condom are enough to make her heart sink a little. She longs to be close to him again, because it feels terrible not to be.

To her sheer relief, that feeling is soon replaced. “Come here,” Bellamy grins as he pulls her close and places a sweet kiss to the crown of her hair. He hoists her leg up onto his hip, effectively entangling their legs, and then — for seemingly no reason at all — they both succumb to laughter… The amazing, easy kind of laughter that makes you feel all gooey inside. 

Blushing, she tries to hide her face in the pillow, but he’s too close not to notice. With a tiny kiss to the tip of her nose, Bellamy lifts her chin up using two of his fingers, and their eyes connect again. “Well, damn. That was good.” 

“ _So_ good.”

Cue: Another round of calm laughter.

When that’s done, Clarke suddenly has to ask, her curiosity too strong, “How did you last so long?” To be fair, they probably didn’t have sex for much more than five minutes, but from what she’s heard that’s still a long time for an eighteen-year-old boy. 

“Practice,” he chuckles warmly, making her jaw drop a little and her eyes gleam with intrigue. When he’s seen her reaction, he adds, his voice full of amusement, “You really don’t wanna know.”

In fact, she really _does._ But from his words it’s pretty obvious that he’d rather not tell her, and that’s okay. After all, imagining the many ways he could’ve practiced for this is probably hotter than knowing the truth.

More than anything, the fact that he practiced to make this last is so fucking sweet. Pressing the pad of her thumb to his full bottom lip, Clarke smiles at him as her heart swells in her chest, skipping a couple beats for him. 

They cuddle for another ten minutes, resting in each other’s arms and stealing chaste kisses. What drives them apart in the end is her _dad_ knocking on the door. “Clarke? Bellamy? I’ve made hot chocolate.”

_Fuck. When did he come home?_

Horrified, they stare at each other. Bellamy gulps just as she tells her dad that they’ll be right down, trying to keep the awkwardness out of her voice. 

Because they’re now compelled too, they quickly move out of the bed and get dressed in silence, though Clarke swears that she can hear him mutter a few curses under his breath, and she can’t blame him, because she’s kind of panicking as well. 

Then they shuffle down the stairs to meet her dad, who’s reading The New York Times in the living room as he always does on Friday afternoons. When he notices them, a warm smile grows on his face and he motions for them to sit down on the other couch. 

Struggling to keep her voice nonchalant, Clarke takes her cup of hot chocolate, blows on it and asks, “How long have you been home for, dad? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“About half an hour.” 

_Oh fuck._

This situation has the potential to grow a thousand times more awkward. Not sure what to say, Clarke and Bellamy take careful sips of their hot chocolate to excuse their silence while they try not to stare at the seemingly oblivious Jake Griffin. 

She tells herself that he can’t know what’s going on, because if he did he’d probably be interrogating Bellamy right now. For the last four years, this boy has been a frequent and welcome guest in his home; someone whom he entrusted with his only daughter’s life. 

Just when she is sure that her dad will go back to his newspaper, he says, “Look, I’m not stupid… and my hearing is much better than it seems.”

To say she wants to crawl into a hole would be appropriate.

And that’s despite the fact that her dad is being really cool about this. At least there’s no hint of anger in his voice.

Next to her, Bellamy speaks up, “Sir, I—“

At that, her dad actually throws his head back in short laughter, which leaves them both confused for a moment until he insists, “’Jake’ is still fine, Bellamy. Everything’s fine.”

_Say what now?_

When Bellamy had spoken up, Clarke’s hand had instinctively clasped down on his arm, perhaps to give him courage, but she kind of feels like that isn’t necessary right now. If her dad isn’t angry with him — which would be _amazing_ — then she doesn’t need to jump to his defense. Nevertheless, she decides to remain ready to do so.

Jake sighs before continuing, a smile evident in his eyes. “You’re young, you’re close. It happens. I had a feeling that _this_ was going to happen since I saw his sweatshirt in the laundry basket. But I wanna make one thing clear: If you’re gonna have sex under my roof again, please do it while I’m not here.” 

Well, that’s fair.

But her dad isn’t quite done yet. Turning his attention to Clarke, he adds, “And I strongly encourage you to tell your mother about this. She knows much more about contraception and all that other stuff than I do. You were safe, right?” 

“ _Yes_ , dad.” 

He smiles again. “Okay. Good.”

As if Jake Griffin hadn’t just proved himself to be the coolest dad on the planet, he puts an end to the awkward topic by asking Bellamy about the football game. Overcome with relief, Bellamy tells him as many details as he can remember, and her dad’s smile grows by the second. It’s amazing that their good relationship wasn’t ruined because of this. 

Eventually, though, her dad has to leave them because — as he puts it — the dinner won’t make itself. Before he passes Bellamy, however, he places a hand on his shoulder and leans down to whisper something in his ear, which makes Clarke feel a bit uneasy in spite of everything.

 

Later, they’re eating Chocolate Therapy ice cream for dessert in her bedroom. They’ve used some of the spare cookies from their last Target run to make sandwiches, which gives them both flashbacks to last summer when it was fucking hot and they _had_ to eat these all the time to survive. 

“I’m surprised that your dad let me go back up here,” Bellamy admits as he uses his thumb to dry some cookie crumbs off the corner of her mouth. These words don’t exactly make her feel calmer about what her dad could’ve whispered to him earlier.

“What did he say to you? If he threatened you in any way, I’m going to kick his ass, I swear to—“

Bellamy lets out a short, warm laugh while he shakes his head to reassure her. “He didn’t threaten me. He…” For half a minute, Clarke waits with raised eyebrows, but no continuation follows. So she frowns at him.

“What? What did he say, Bell?” 

When he smiles at her again, it’s grown a little shy, which is a rare look on him. Then he scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know if he was kidding, but he told me that there’s a reason why he’s been referring to me as ‘son’ for two years now. It doesn’t mean what I thought it did. He didn’t see me as an actual son, but as a…” 

Clarke stares. “A son in law?”

“Yeah. At least that’s how I interpreted it.”

 _Well, that explains her dad’s calm reaction._ If he’s always viewed Bellamy as a good, maybe even the best, match for her, he must be thrilled to know that something has finally happened between them. “It makes sense,” she concludes around the last bit of her ice cream sandwich. “He’s always loved you.”

“Is that weird? I think it’s a little weird.”

At that, Clarke nods. “Oh, definitely. Not that he liked you, but that he’s been thinking about us getting married and stuff.” 

Bellamy’s eyes widen. “Married? Damn. Those are some serious expectations,” while it sounds like he’s joking, what he’s saying is true nonetheless.

“Did that freak you out?” 

It would make all the sense in the world if he were freaked out. Maybe she should talk to her dad about not putting that kind of pressure on an eighteen-year-old boy’s shoulders. Right now, all they’re thinking about in terms of their future is making it out of high school alive. To her surprise, however, Bellamy leans forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. 

“No, not really. I think he was messing with me, for the most part. I’m just happy that he didn’t bite my head off. I mean, he did hear us have sex.” 

Clarke grimaces. “Ew. Please don’t ever mention that again.”

“Noted.”

Then she realizes that _they_ didn’t get an actual chance to talk about their first time together, and because that seems like a pretty big deal, Clarke decides to bring it up while they’re watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine on her laptop, because why not? One of Jake Peralta’s ‘title of your sex tape’ jokes is an excellent conversation-starter. 

Resting her hand on his thigh and her head on his shoulder, she starts, “So…” and Bellamy immediately pauses the episode, revealing that he knows what she wants to talk about. “We had sex.”

“Oh, we did? I didn’t notice.” 

That teasing earns him a light punch on the arm, and like a true best friend he pretends that it hurts by mouthing ‘ _Ow!_ ’. Then he cups her cheek and kisses it, making her smile. 

“It really didn’t hurt at all?” is his first question, his dark eyes gentle as ever.

In immediate reassurance, Clarke shakes her head. “Nope…” then she suddenly has to add, “I’m glad it was you.”

Bellamy lifts her hand to his mouth to kiss it, interlaces their fingers. “I’m glad it was you, too.”

(To her sheer delight, they also agree that they should at least use up the box of condoms that he bought. Otherwise it would be a complete waste of money…)

 

* * *

 

Bellamy’s insistence that they shouldn’t have sex in his crappy, old car lasts no more than one week. Since the incident with her dad, fooling around in her bedroom is kind of awkward even though no one else is home, so they are forced to be creative. 

And Clarke’s concerns about riding him are disapproved.

The car is parked in a random field a mile from the school, his warm hands have found their way underneath her sweater and _Chocolate_ by The 1975 is setting the playful mood. When she kisses him, Clarke senses him smile against her mouth, so she chuckles, but the sound quickly turns into a gasp when he squeezes her breast. Though they’re just making out right now, it feels like so much more. If it does turn into sex, she knows that there’s a condom in Bellamy’s back pocket for her to grab.

“Are you gonna miss me?”

Bellamy is going away for one week on a football camp with his teammate and their coach, Charles Pike. Thinking about it makes her heart sink, but she also doesn’t want him to treat it like a big deal, because the sport is important to him. “Just be home for Christmas,” she teases, prompting him to kiss her deeper. 

 _The Hills_ by The Weeknd starts playing, and she can’t help but chuckle. “Did you make a sexy mixtape for this kind of situation?” 

Wiggling his eyebrows, he makes her laugh harder. “I don’t know. Is it working?”

Yeah. It is. But to be fair, she’s fucking horny, so pretty much anything would be “working”. He could be wearing his silly Augustus Halloween costume from last year and she’d still want to jump him. Without saying anything, Clarke smirks as she lifts herself a little off his lap to unbuckle his belt.

Knowing that they’re technically in public ( _again_ ), they keep most of their clothes on, only removing their underwear, because that’s the only thing truly separating them. This time, Bellamy doesn’t fumble with the condom and rolls it on easily, but it’s safe to say that his cock has never looked more intimidating to her. 

“Is this okay with you? We can go to the backseat. There’s more room.” 

“No, this is fine. I’m just scared that it won’t be… good for you.”

Bellamy’s brow furrows in confusion at her words. With a sigh, he reaches out to cup her cheek. Soon, the easy smile on his lips grows to his dark brown eyes, which makes her relax right away. “What are you talking about? You’ll do great. I’ll help you. Like you said to me, making this a good experience isn’t just your responsibility.”

_Wow, those words must have left a big impression on him._

Her confidence builds until she feels ready to sink down on him, and Bellamy’s hands immediately enclose her waist to steady her. For some reason, she hadn’t realized how wet she is, but she must be _soaking,_ because otherwise it would’ve probably hurt. With a low cry, she takes the last bit of him as her head falls onto his shoulder, and his hot breath collides with her neck. 

“You’re doing so good,” he praises, running his fingers through the back of her hair. Struck by the sudden desire to look at him, Clarke lifts her head off his shoulder to gaze into his eyes, which carry a soft twinkle. Encouraged, she raises herself up slightly and grinds back down. To her surprise, that small thrust is enough to make him groan low in his throat, so she does it again. 

And again. 

Once she’s found a rhythm she’s comfortable with, Bellamy starts to thrust upwards into her, harder than he has before, but it doesn’t throw her off. On the contrary, a moan tears loose from her throat. 

“ _Bellamy…_ ”

He bites at her lower lip, and then soothes it with the tip of his tongue. “Clarke…” With that, he moves his hand in between their bodies to circle her clit. Whimpering in pure need, Clarke fucks down on him harder, forgetting for a minute that he’s a teenage boy and she should have a bit of mercy. 

Without warning, he fists at her hair as he comes, his breath ragged against her lips.

Still, his surprising orgasm doesn’t mean that he neglects her. After removing the condom, Bellamy gets her off with his fingers in the matter of minutes and leaves wetness pooling down her thighs. It’s safe to say that this was _way dirtier_ than their first time for whatever reason, and it has them both shook. 

“Anyway, I hope you have a good trip to North Carolina,” Clarke deadpans.

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

_Wait… what?_

For a full minute, she’s too baffled to form any coherent words. Maybe he didn’t realize that he said it because of the post-orgasm bliss, but what if he really meant it? Dropping such a huge bomb on her right before he has to leave for a week seems like the kind of dramatic yet adorable thing he would do, so she chooses to take it seriously.

“I love you too, Bellamy.” 

If the way he blinks before meeting her gaze is any indication, he didn’t expect to receive that response. Nevertheless, once it dawns on him that she means it, he beams from ear to ear like a strong sun in mid-November. Then he captures her lips with his, sighs against her mouth and holds her so close that she can feel his heart beating.

“Well, that’s awesome, because I was kind of making myself crazy overthinking how I was going to ask you out.”

Feeling heat rush to her cheeks at his sweet admission, Clarke caresses his freckled cheekbone. “Relax. You don’t have to ask me out. We can just go for a milkshake and fries and call it a date.” 

“Sounds wonderful to me, Princess.”

_Yeah. It sounds perfect._

_It sounds like them._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!!!!! :D 
> 
> **also sidenote:** this fic has been nominated for BFWA in the category - General Fiction: Best Smut Fanfiction, which i just can't believe. thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to nominate it (or any of my other works). it truly means the world to me  <3

Having the big house all to herself for the night, Clarke prepares a soothing bath using the blue shimmering bath bomb that she bought a few days ago and some drops of rose oil to make it smell as amazing as it looks. However, once she has been soaking in the warm, bubbly water for a couple minutes the relaxing song playing from her Spotify playlist is interrupted by the sound of a text message.

And she’s about to become annoyed when she notices that it’s from Bellamy… 

The corners of her mouth curve upwards into a smile just from seeing his name flash across the screen; seriously, a week is far too long without him here. Once she has opened the message, her breath catches in her throat: It’s a _picture_ of him standing shirtless, wearing a goofy smile that shows in his eyes as he holds a towel to his wet hair. 

The message that follows it reads:

 

 **7:35 PM:** Last game is done. See you in 5 hours.

Love you [red heart emoji]

Her heart can barely manage so much fluttering; it’s not used to being affected in this way. Biting down on her lower lip, Clarke fixates on the photo, then the last two words of the text, and then the photo again. _How is possible for her to be so turned on and touched at the same time?_ For a moment, her thumbs dance above the letter keys until she decides that her mood is best conveyed with emojis:

 

 **7:38 PM:** [heart eyes emoji] [smirking emoji] [eggplant emoji]

 

This is how she ends up pressing the showerhead to her clit, the running water providing some much-needed relief. Because he’s far from stupid, Bellamy dials her within two minutes and Clarke puts him on speaker. 

“Hi,” she giggles. “Where are you?”

A moment passes. “I’m talking a walk,” though she can’t see him, Clarke can _hear_ the smirk on his lips as he says that.  

“Wise,” is her only deadpan comment before her voice is overpowered by a sharp gasp. The hot spray of water has _finally_ been aimed at just the right angle, and she spreads her legs further as she moans, not minding for one second that Bellamy can hear everything. 

She hears his breath hitch ever so slightly around his following words. “I can hear running water. Where are you? In the shower or something?” 

“Tub.”

At that, he hums and she pictures him closing his eyes at the new visual. Inhaling the nice scent of roses that surrounds her, Clarke lets her eyelids flutter shut, too, the corner of her mouth twitches as he shows in her mind. The last time this happened, she was terrified of indulging in it, of allowing the fantasy to truly take shape, but everything’s different now. 

Although it’s a bit difficult because the sensations are not at all alike, she pretends that the soft spray of water is Bellamy’s fingers. 

“Are you using the shower head?” he asks suddenly, interrupting her mental image.

“Yeah…”

Though he groans low in his throat, Bellamy manages to give her a piece of advice, “Try to move it in circular motions. If that doesn’t help, use your fingers as well.” 

It’s a little weird that she hadn’t thought of that on her own, because she’s gotten herself off plenty of times before and knows what she likes. For a minute, she follows his instructions with the showerhead only to realize that it doesn’t do enough for her — in fact, it’s just a sinful waste of water, so she turns it off and replaces it with two of her fingers. 

Right away, she moans out loud in relief, the hollow sound echoing in the bathroom. 

“ _That’s it…_ ” he murmurs, his voice gruff. “Come for me, Clarke.” 

_Well, fuck._

At those words, a deep blush shoots to her cheeks. Never in her life did she imagine that her best friend would talk to her like that. Even though his voice doesn’t lack its usual respect and care, his comment is marked by lust — sort of like when he suddenly called her babe twice while she was blowing him.

Nonetheless, his unexpected response seems to do the trick. Overcome by the desire, Clarke presses the heel of her palm against her clit without withdrawing her fingers, and no more than a minute passes before she’s hovering above the edge, panting his name. In the end, hearing his dark growl through the phone is what causes the strong pleasure to conquer her body as she comes hard. 

“ _Oh Bellamy,_ ” she cries out, anchoring herself against the edge of the tub.

“I’m right here, Baby.”

It takes her a couple of minutes to fully wind down from the release. Now at the surface again, Clarke is nothing short of delirious. _What the hell just happened?_

In spite of everything, sex with Bellamy is still somehow an unbelievable phenomenon to her as if she’s spent the last couple weeks in a thick, dreamy haze. Running her fingertips through the back of her hair, Clarke succumbs to chuckles, causing him to release a warm laugh at the other end of the call. 

Then he admits, “Well, shit. Now I have a problem…” 

Knowing _exactly_ what he’s talking about, Clarke argues, “Nonsense. I doubt jerking off right now will be difficult for you.” 

“You’re right, it won’t be. Except from the _small_ fact that there’s no privacy in this camp at all. And yeah, I could do it here, outside, if it weren’t fifteen fucking degrees. I’ll freeze my dick off.” 

Even though Clarke can now see why he’s in a troubling situation, she can’t help but laugh a little at his way of phrasing it. In her best effort to cheer him up, she promises that she’ll even the playing field when he comes back from North Carolina, and in turn he reminds her that they’re going on a _date_ soon.

Like an _actual_ date…

She can’t wait.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning is like that of any other Monday as Bellamy drives up to the curb by her house. When she gets in, his smile is slightly apologetic. 

“Sorry I didn’t visit you last night. I sort of passed out on the couch.” With those words, he places his warm hand on her thigh, and she leans in to give him a reassuring cheek kiss. 

“It’s okay.” 

After seven days of intense football training it’s more than understandable for him to be run down, especially because Charles Pike — the determined team coach — likes to push him extra hard, but it’s only because he wants him to succeed. So far, Bellamy hasn’t had the will to tell him that he’s not aiming for a career in the NFL. 

His love for books is too strong.

Grinning at her, Bellamy teases, “What? I’m gone for a week and you can’t even give a real kiss?” which prompts her to roll her eyes in affection before she leans in again to capture his lips with her own. Still, she keeps it chaste, knowing that they have a class to attend and that there’s no time for any sort of distraction. 

Now satisfied, he turns the wheel, steering them onto the road that leads to Ark High.

On their walk to World History class, Clarke fills him in on everything that has happened while he was in North Carolina, though it isn’t all that exciting. Without him next to her, it’s as if the hallways of the school turn bleaker; she’s missed his hugs, his great coffee and laughter. When he pulls her against his side to press a lingering kiss into her hair, her heart flutters at the familiarity. 

Despite this recognition, she knows that things have changed between them, that they’re technically _dating_ now.

(Sure, they haven’t been on a date _yet._ But whatever…)

The new status of their relationship seems to truly dawn on every other member of their class when they enter the room still holding onto each other. Roma Bragg, a cheerleader who’s always had an interest in Bellamy, can’t help but stare, but they both ignore it, smiling at professor Diyoza as they pass her desk. 

It’s a whole new world. 

Somehow, Clarke feels like she’s been liberated of heavy chains.

 

Having survived all of their classes, they meet up in the school parking lot as per usual and wrap themselves in blankets to keep warm in the old car. Before they hit the road, however, Bellamy hands her a mixtape that he wants them to listen to. “It’s new. Look at the back.” 

This car existed way before the era of Bluetooth and Apple CarPlay, which is why he spends a lot of time making these mixtapes in his room using his mom’s recorder from the early 90’s. When she turns this one, the name of it pops out at her in purple sharpie on a piece of washy tape: _Clarke’s mix._

She goddamn nearly tears up at the sight. “Bellamy…” 

Running his hand through the back of his curly hair, he smiles, a little sheepish. “Just listen,” is his only rushed comment as he tries to hide the flush of crimson in his freckled cheeks. 

The first track is the perfect beginning: _Greek Tragedy_ by The Wombats, which just happens to be the song that they listened to on the night of Finn’s shitty Halloween party that ironically led her in the right direction — towards _him._

But the second song is one that she has never heard before, and he mutters that it showed in his Spotify Recommended and reminded him of her, so he decided to include it. Because the melody is slow in that mesmerizing kind of way, she tells him to pull over and steps out onto the grass field.

 

_Is it everything that she does?_

_It gets me going, maybe it's love_

_She tastes like summer and she smiles like May_

_Every night in my dreams I dream we'll be one day._

 

“Dance with me,” is her soft demand, and he chuckles as he takes her hand.

At first she doesn’t really know why he finds it amusing, but as soon as they have started swaying, the beat of the song picks up, transforming it from a slow-dance tune into something much different. 

“Well, that was unexpected,” she laughs, but they don’t let it stop them, moving their feet faster to match the rhythm.

 

_A lipstick cocktail and cacophony_

_Of our love to make a symphony_

_She tastes like summer and she smells like home_

_Her smile could inspire some to change the world_

_She'll change the world, she'll change the world_

_She'll change the world someday, you'll see._

Another car passes, and the driver honks, raising a hand in greeting once he notices them dancing in a field like two love-struck dorks. Clarke thinks about how weird it is to be dancing to a song that has anything to do with summer when it’s shit cold outside, the frozen ground crunching underneath their boots.

But when Bellamy kisses her, heat rises through her body and she couldn’t care less about the weather.

 

When they walk into her bedroom after their unplanned break in the field, they’re grabbing at each other to stay warm. Groaning into her mouth, Bellamy lifts her off the floor as soon as Clarke has told him that both her parents are working overtime. 

“That phone call yesterday was unfair, you know,” he tells her around laughter once he’s placed her on the mattress.

“Hey, you called _me_ , remember?” With that teasing reminder, Clarke pulls off her t-shirt, which reveals her midnight blue bra. 

“Those emojis were torturing me. I had no choice.”

Once he’s said that, she sends him a look that speaks for itself: _Less talking, more undressing_ , and to her relief he decides to listen, unbuckling his belt before removing his sweater. Stepping out of his pants, he joins her on the bed to snap the button on her jeans open to drag them down her legs. They fall to the floor, and she sends him an easy smile when his face finally hovers above hers. 

His dark eyes roam over her face as if they can’t quite decide where to settle. In the end, he fixates on her parted lips for a few seconds until he captures them with his own. Feeling her toes curl at the sensation, Clarke sighs and buries her fingertips in the dark curls of his hair, which causes him to deepen the kiss with the tip of his tongue. 

_Damn._

Colorful fireworks go off in her stomach, making heat coil in her lower belly. At this rate, she’ll be soaking wet in no time, but if the way that Bellamy is moving down her body to place hot kisses to her inner thighs is any indication, he probably expects a greater challenge.

Either that, or he’s just looking to please her even more, because it’s _working._  

“Take off your bra,” he murmurs as he hooks his thumbs in the sides of her underwear and removes him as though he has done it a million times before. As nervous as he was during their first time, he should be applauded for his level of confidence now…

Although she can’t be sure, Clarke assumes the phone call must have brought him to understand that she really _does_ want him. 

With a smirk playing on her lips, she drops her bra to the floor. The realization that she is naked below him is enough to make her stomach sizzle with excitement. Giving her another chaste kiss, Bellamy tells her that he’s missed her, his voice and eyes soft like velvet. Some part of her mind still questions: _How can this be real?_  

And like the first time they did this, she suddenly feels emotional. 

And Bellamy notices it right away as he searches her ocean eyes. She grabs his broad shoulders with a tiny whimper when he places sweet kisses to her chin, cheek and jawline. “I’m sorry,” Clarke whispers, not knowing _why_ she feels the need to apologize for the tears in her eyes. 

“Hey, this is still new. I’m emotional, too.” 

Most likely to distract her a bit from the embarrassing tears, Bellamy starts to ramble on about how they could go to the McDonald’s drive-through tonight to have their ‘date’, and while listening to him speak is enough to make her heart soften in deep affection, she can feel his erection brushing against her center, so she has to protest eventually. 

“Bell…” she chuckles, “Will you please just get inside me?” 

Bellamy grins, his freckled cheeks flushing with a light shade of pink. “Sure. I need a condom first, though.”

_Say no more._

Smiling back, Clarke hands him the condom that she fishes out of her nightstand drawer, and he winks at her. “Thanks.”

This simple comment makes her laugh out loud. By the time he’s rolled the condom on and positioned himself at her entrance, her last few chuckles are dying out. Placing a tiny kiss to the tip of her nose, Bellamy asks, “Are you sure?” and her heart swells in fondness: It’s certain that he’s not going to be the kind of douchey boyfriend who thinks consent is something to which he is entitled. . 

“ _Yes…_ ”

He smiles, his dark brown eyes flickering with sparks as he pushes into her. Because this sensation is fairly new, her walls still have to stretch to accommodate him, but to her relief it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as the first time. It doesn’t take long either, and once he is fully buried inside her a moan tumbles from her throat. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Bellamy breathes, the hot air brushing her lower lip. At his surprising comment, Clarke’s cheeks burn despite how stomach flips from the compliment. On top of that, she’s also slightly curious. 

“What do I feel like?”

Suddenly she’d like a full description, which is clearly not something that he expected given his hesitation. After a few seconds, he thrusts into her, hitting deeply enough to make her gasp in awe. It’s already so different from their first time, but not in a bad way. 

“You’re really tight… and soft,” is his reply at last, which only makes the blush in her cheeks deepen. Though she wishes that she could describe _him_ in turn, no fitting adjectives come to mind, so she decides against it. 

Not knowing what to say at all, Clarke giggles, but his next thrust has the innocent sound morphing into another moan. Instead of engaging in further conversation, she lets her eyelids flutter closed to enjoy this as long as it lasts. After another minute, however, her curiosity strikes again. “… Um, can you do it a bit harder?”

Bellamy stills, causing her to open her eyes and settle on his furrowed brow. “Harder?” 

“Do I need to spell it out for you? _Fuck me._ I mean, if you can’t it’s—“ 

What cuts her off is him following through, thrusting into her with such force that the mattress dips under the pressure; her breath quivers around a high-pitched gasp and she anchors herself by clawing at his back. “Shit…” she curses, biting her lower lip. “Do it again.” 

Bellamy releases a guttural groan with his next few thrusts, obviously struggling a bit, the change making it more difficult for him to last. But he never was one to turn down a challenge, so he keeps up the quicker, harder pace even as tiny drops of sweater gather on his back.

Whimpering in pleasure, Clarke pulls at his hair to keep from scratching the skin of his shoulders. For a moment, she wills her eyes to open just so that they can meet his: It feels as if she’s staring at earth that’s been set aflame, not by anger but by passion. “God, Bell—“

“You like this, huh?” he bites the swell of her breast before soothing the sting with the tip of his tongue. “You like being fucked, don’t you?”

Nodding through the intense pleasure, Clarke digs her blunt nails into the soft skin of his waist, causing him to pound into her even harder as he pulls at her bottom lip with his teeth. 

Her walls flutter around him, making his next thrust the last one as he comes apart with a broken moan. When his forehead drops to her shoulder and he pants trying to regain his breath, Clarke brushes her fingertips soothingly through his chaotic hair before deciding to flip them over, so his arms can catch a break. 

“I can’t pull out like this, Princess.”

Clarke smiles. “Just hold onto the condom. I’ll do the rest.” 

(Yeah, she should totally put that on her list of things she never thought she’d say to him.) 

Once he’s thrown the condom out, she rests her hand on her forearm as he cleans himself up with a Kleenex. Because of something he read on the Internet, Bellamy’s fear of accidentally getting her pregnant has intensified, but she prefers his precautious nature to even _slight_ carelessness. 

Plus, they get a wonderful laugh out of it.

“Fucking hell,” Bellamy chuckles, pulling her in for a deep kiss. “I know it’s weird, but—“ 

Effectively cutting him off, Clarke entangles her leg with his so that their bodies are as close as possible right now. Then she traces his full bottom lip with her fingertip while gazing into his eyes, and he drops a lingering kiss to her shoulder. 

“How wet are you on a scale from one to ten?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the corners when her cheeks flush again. 

Quirking up an eyebrow, Clarke replies, “Feel for yourself.” To give him access, she spreads her legs a little further, and he doesn’t hesitate to run two fingers along her slit. 

“You’re fucking soaking,” he breathes, slipping the fingers into her without warning. At first, she tenses up, but he doesn’t move them, allowing her enough time to adjust. Once she’s relaxing, he starts to pump them in and out of her at a torturously slow pace, which is only made more frustrating by the fact that he just barely _grazes_ her clit with every movement. 

“ _Bellamy,_ ” she whines, poking his foot with hers. “Please…” 

Though he for a moment seems fazed by her begging, he doesn’t speed up. She could easily take matters into her own hands, but she’s also curious to see what he’s planning to accomplish with this approach. Because of this, she decides not to interfere, which proves to be a great choice.

Awestruck, she lies next to him as he pleasures her for at least fifteen full minutes, drawing needy whimpers and small moans from her every once in a while. When that time has passed, however, he abruptly shakes things up, crooking his fingers against the sweet spot inside her that makes her see stars. Determined, he rubs her clit in rough circles until she comes, the orgasm sudden and powerful.

She cries out in pleasure, shuddering as the wave of release rolls through her. Bellamy kisses her while she winds down and — to her absolute amazement — eagerly licks her clean of juices afterwards until she’s mewling from overstimulation. Blushing deeper as he groans against her core, Clarke reaches down to pull at his arms. 

“You’ve done enough,” is her assessment, which is followed by a new row of giggles. 

His grin wide and lopsided, Bellamy moves up her body to look at her, his slack jaw revealing that he’s somehow astonished that he got to have sex with her again… And like _this,_ all rough and dirty. Holy shit.

“Well, that was fucking intense,” Bellamy remarks as he pulls her against his bare chest. “Are you okay?” 

At his usual affection showing again, Clarke smiles. Connecting their gazes, she maps the small dimple in his chest with her thumb. “Yeah. I’m great… You?”

His dark eyes are shining with yet even more sparks, and though she wants to look at the breathtaking sight forever she is not about to dodge the passionate kiss that he gives her. Once he has drawn back, Bellamy admits, “I’m a little beat. But it’s worth it.” 

They laugh again, cuddle until they both drift off to sleep. Half an hour later, Bellamy wakes up to the striking sight of Clarke’s head hovering about his cock. Not aware that he’s looking, she licks her lips, causing him to groan, which more than exposes him.

“If you blow me right now, we’ll never make it out of here,” he warns, though his words carry no real objection.

Smirking, Clarke pulls away. “Alright. Put your clothes on then.”   

As she’d expected, he hesitates, taken aback by her response. Then he groans, running a palm across the length of his face. “That’s not what I want…” 

Still unable to control her smirk, she takes his cock — which is already semi-hard again — into her hand. Biting her bottom lip as she gives him a leisured stroke, Clarke breathes, “Is this what you want?” and he nods, choking on a needy whimper. To her surprise, he jerks his hips forward a little so that his length slips further into her curled fist. She twists her wrist at the base, asks him if he can stay quiet before she takes the head of his cock into her mouth. 

“Fuck…” Bellamy breathes, leaning back against the pillow while she continues sucking him off lazily, since she’s determined to draw this out as much as possible. The taste and weight of him on her tongue is still new, but in an intoxicating way.

Clarke keeps her eyes trained on him, and heat coils in her lower belly while she watches his jaw slack and his fingertips dig into the comforter. Though his breathing quickly turns heavier, Bellamy doesn’t speak, most likely because he can’t find the words.

To alternate things a bit, she takes him a bit further, making an effort to breathe through her nose. His brow furrows, his bottom lip quivering around a quiet moan, and her confidence sparks. Blowing him is not something that she’d thought would be particularly rewarding for her, but it _is —_ albeit in a completely different way.

“Wow, that feels good,” he murmurs, prompting her to give him another suck, this one hard enough to make his eyelashes flutter at the pleasure. Feeling experimental, Clarke works at him with her hands for a minute before pulling away to lick along the underside of his shaft. 

Without warning, he fists at the sheets as his cock swells in her mouth. Now Clarke has to pull back to swallow, but once she has done it she is faced with a very apologetic Bellamy, whose dark eyes have turned even softer than usual. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—“ 

She smiles in reassurance, raising a hand to prevent him from continuing. “No. It’s okay.” 

Bellamy holds her gaze for a moment to be sure that she’s being truthful. Then he laughs, incredulous, as he pulls her down for a surprisingly passionate kiss.

 _The myth about guys not wanting to kiss girls after a blowjob?_ It certainly doesn’t apply to him. And it makes her feel so relieved, her heart bursting with excited sparks in her chest, but he’s all affection now, running his fingertips through her golden hair. 

“I thought a lot about this while I was away,” he admits, caressing her cheekbone with his thumb. 

Smiling, Clarke replies, “What? Us having sex?” 

In that case, he’s not alone. Fuck, those seven days he spent in North Carolina were torturous, and she had to find _some_ way to pass the time; the most effective one turned out to be fantasizing, then masturbating, and frankly… she refuses to feel bad about it.

“Yeah. Even more than before.” 

She blinks. Almost right away, it dawns on her that Bellamy didn’t mean to say that last bit, but he _did,_ thereby opening a whole new can of worms. As his freckled cheeks are tinted by a pink flush, his eyes widen. “Will you… Can you forget that I just said that?” 

“Nope.”

Bellamy sighs, handing her the bra after picking it off the floor. “Thought so. I’ll explain in the car.” 

 

Once they have their usual order of fries and a chocolate milkshake from the local McDonald’s, Bellamy parks the car on the same grass field that they danced in a couple of hours ago. Darkness has fallen, the only source of light being the silvery moon, because the thick clouds are hiding the stars.

Even though this is easily the most casual first date ever, there’s something quite romantic about it, too. Bellamy steals a lingering kiss from her after his first taste of the milkshake, and she smiles against his mouth. For a few minutes, they talk about his football training camp because they haven’t had time to discuss the details yet, and it also — conveniently — gives them an excuse not to dive into the topic of sex again. 

Something about it still makes her nervous, which is weird at best considering the fact that they fucked in her bed not even an hour ago.

At some point, though, it’s inevitable. 

Bellamy closes his eyes, puts his hand on top of hers almost as if he’s afraid that she’ll leave. “You remember that rainy day in August where I picked you up in front of the frozen yogurt place?”

Yeah, she does, but to call it _rainy_ must be the understatement of the year, because it was a fucking _downpour._ After her awkward first date with Finn, Clarke texted him and asked if he could pick her up. It took no more than two minutes of waiting outside for her to be drenched by the water of the angry sky. 

To her surprise, Bellamy chuckles, even if the edges of the sound are a little nervous. “I thought it was a dead giveaway that Collins had taken _you_ —a die-hard ice cream lover — to a _frozen yogurt_ place. Like, he clearly didn’t know you at all, Princess.”

When he glances at her, she laughs as well, because it’s _wild_ that she hadn’t thought that far back then. Pressing her chin to his shoulder, Clarke asks, “Were you jealous?” and watches him swallow hard enough that his Adam’s apple bobs.

“Hell yeah…” his hesitant admission has her eyes widening. “I hated myself for it, kept telling myself that you’d chosen him; that I was in no way entitled to you just because I was your best friend. Did I think you deserved better? Yes, but I had no right to tell you that.” 

Placing a kiss to his cheek, Clarke whispers, “You’re a good man, Bellamy.”

He worries his lower lip. “I would hold off on saying that if I were you…” When she’s about to object, he continues, “As soon as you got into my car looking like that, I was fucking struggling. You were… _fuck —_ your clothes clinging to your curves, the water dripping from your skin? I was a mess, Clarke. Maybe I played it off well, but…”

 _He did._ While she did notice him looking at her a little more than usual during the drive, she didn’t think anything of it at the time, since no unusual emotion showed in his gaze. Then again, perhaps she failed to see that he was turned on because _she_ thought she looked like a wet Chihuahua.

Obviously willing himself to keep talking, Bellamy caresses her knuckles with his thumb for a moment. “The drive to your house was agonizing. I felt so guilty, especially because at that point you’d already told me that you were thinking about sleeping with Collins. I’d accepted that I didn’t have a chance, that whatever I felt for you was shameful…”

Clarke can _hear_ in his voice that he’s angry with himself, which is a little confusing, because so far nothing he’s said has been outrageous enough to throw her off. 

“You’d made your choice. I _knew_ that. I had to let it go… But I didn’t. Instead I went home to an empty house, and I jerked off.” 

Feeling her mouth go dry, she blinks, somehow taken aback by the truth. This moment reminds her of that night in the Target parking lot when he told her — without daring to look at her — that he’d watched her pleasure herself and come apart in his car. Though she’s afraid of alarming him, Clarke can’t prevent the words from pushing past her lips, “…You did what?”

Guilt paints his gaze. “I’m sorry.” 

Because she senses his panic, Clarke chooses to reassure him right away. “I’m not angry, Bellamy.” 

Maybe she should be, as this isn’t exactly an innocent thing he’s telling her about, but instead of reacting to it with expected anger, she is a bit intrigued. Still, her being angry would also be rather hypocritical, which she doesn’t hesitate to point out, “If it’s okay for _me_ to masturbate and fantasize about you in your own damn car, it’s okay that you’ve jerked off while thinking about me.” 

“It’s not like that, Clarke.”

She gives his hand a light squeeze. “Oh, I’m pretty sure it is. But you can tell me about it, and we’ll see.”

Just like she did a couple weeks ago after he’d caught her pleasuring herself in the car. Yeah, it had been a little embarrassing to go into detail about the fantasy, but it was also strangely nice to talk about it, to be open with him instead of hiding her desire.

Running his fingers through the back of his hair, Bellamy sighs, “It was brought on by the jealousy, I think, and the hopelessness that I was feeling.”

“With me, in your car, it was pure desire,” she tells him.

“Sure. Wait… what?” as though he doesn’t understand how she could possibly have been _that_ into him, Bellamy looks at her, his brow furrowed while he watches the amused grin spread across her face. Collecting himself, he continues, surprisingly blunt now, “I thought about stopping you before you went up the driveway to your house and fucking you on the hood of my car.”

He bites his lower lip, anticipating her reaction, which is, “In the pouring rain? Right in front of my parents’ house?”

“Yes.”

Though Clarke doesn’t have to spend any time deciding what she thinks about his fantasy, she waits a couple seconds just for the sake of dramatic effect. Then she deadpans, “Hot.” 

And he chokes on nothing. “Really? I think it’s possessive as fuck and I hate it.”

“You need to cut yourself some slack, Bell,” is what she says, laughing a little. She brushes her fingers through his hair until he looks at her, which gives her the opportunity to kiss him. When her lips land on his, Bellamy makes a surprised noise at the back of his throat before cradling the back of her head to respond.

Smiling, Clarke runs her hands down his broad shoulders, then draws back to rest her forehead against his. “We should definitely fuck in the rain sometime.”

Bellamy groans only to chuckle a second later. “You’re _unbelievable_.”

“Too bad you’re stuck with me, huh?” is what she responds, winking at him as she offers him the last sip of the milkshake. With one fluid motion, before she has had any time to comprehend it, Bellamy has moved her onto his lap. 

“Nah, you’re my favorite person ever, so…”

No one has ever been able to make her giggle as much as him, and now it’s happening again. To hide it a little, Clarke kisses him languidly, pulls at his bottom lip with her teeth in teasing. “Guess what? You’re _my_ favorite person ever.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS ❤️ i wanted to publish this today as a sort of thank you for making this story a runner-up in the 'best smut fiction' category — thank you so much for that; it means the world to me, and i lost to 'eventually' which i consider a goddamn honor, honestly.  
> the next part will be the final one, and it will be a real epilogue set a couple years in the future, so i hope y'all are as excited for that as i am!

Early December has left its frosty footprints on the football field; the grassy ground is shimmering white in the weak sunlight, a light dusting of snowflakes covering it like powdered sugar. In the bleachers, Clarke is clapping even more than usual to keep her hands warm, longing for Bellamy’s natural body heat — but right now, his head is in the game. 

 _There are less than two minutes remaining on the clock,_ and the two teams are tied. Biting her lower lip, she holds her breath until Bellamy gets his hands on the ball and passes it to number nine — Nathan Miller, who ceases the opportunity, bolting towards the other end of the field while Pike and Bellamy holler in support. Feeling every single cell in her body buzz with excitement, Clarke has to stand from her seat and raise her fist toward the light gray sky.

With an opposing player right on his heels, Miller takes the leap before he reaches the white line, purposefully crashing onto his shoulder at the very last second of the game. 

_Is the referee going to count that as valid or not?_

A couple heavy moments pass in complete silence until the whistle is blown, and a wave of relief sweeps through the Ark High bleachers all the while Miller’s teammates encircle him in pure ecstasy. As per usual, Clarke is ready to race towards Bellamy as soon as possible, but somehow _he_ is faster this time despite the fact that he is briefly detained by Miller, who gives him a smacking kiss right on the forehead.

She can’t mask the wide grin on her face when Bellamy reaches her and lifts her off the cold bench to give her a searing, movie-like kiss. 

Behind them, Zeke Shaw — player number eleven — calls out in teasing, “Damn, Blake. We get it! You love your girlfriend,” causing Bellamy to flip him off over his shoulder while he smiles against Clarke’s mouth. 

Before he puts her down, Bellamy spins Clarke around a few times until laughter rises in her stomach. Already a little warmed up from his touch, she leans against his side, and he places a sweet kiss to the crown of her hair. When she senses a blush rise to her cheeks, she hopes that her cheeks were already colored pink because of the frost biting at her cheeks.

“Are you sore?” she murmurs, running her hands along his toned arms. “It was a long game.” 

Scratching the back of his neck, Bellamy replies, “Yeah. A bit. I just need a shower though. It’ll get the tension out of my body.”

He usually showers with his teammates after a game, but this time she manages to convince him to wait. A smile plays at the corners of her mouth as she offers, “You could shower with me?” because she knows that he won’t be able to resist that. Still, he has to grab his gym bag in the changing room before they can go anywhere, so while he does that, Clarke figures that she might as well tie her loose shoelace.

That’s when Roma Bragg chooses to bud in, “So… what’s it like dating the quarterback?” 

Clarke can’t prevent herself from huffing. “The _quarterback?_ You mean Bellamy Blake, my best friend?”

No, she hasn’t stopped calling him that, which might seem weird to some people, but it’s possible for someone to be your best friend and your boyfriend at the same time. Clearly not getting it, Roma throws her head back in brief laughter, “Please, Clarke. You shove your tongue down your _best friend’s_ throat like that?”

She only smirks. “Yes, I do. And on occasion, I fuck him.” 

As expected, this response leaves the other girl dumbfounded for a full minute, and right when it seems like she’s going to say something, Bellamy shows up dressed in his Ark High hoodie and dark-washed jeans, his hair still damp from sweat. “Let’s go, Princess.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Backing her into the bathroom, Bellamy grazes her sensitive bottom lip with his teeth, and they both chuckle as they struggle to remove their shirts while they’re still moving. His dark eyes are sparking to match his boyish grin; they wander across her face, crinkle a bit at the corners when she smiles back. 

Her heart decides to flutter in her chest at the sight, as though she needs further reminding of how in love with him she is. 

Surprisingly careful, Bellamy reaches out to brush his fingertips along her exposed collarbone; then, they follow the curve of her breastbone, dance across the band of her bra until they reach the clasp at the back. His full lips land on her throat to suck a kiss onto her pulse point, which draws a breathy sigh from her mouth despite how delicate he’s being.

Once he has let the bra drop to the bathroom floor, Clarke unbuttons her jeans and steps out them, her ocean eyes never leaving his. She grins, a mischievous glint dominates her gaze whilst she pulls his belt out of the hoops only to hook her finger in one of them.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes, caressing her cheekbone. At the compliment, she feels confident enough to push her panties down her legs. Unable to prevent his gaze from traveling downward, Bellamy groans low in his and draws her closer by the waist to press his lips to hers. 

“Come on,” Clarke teases, winking at him. “It’s a _rain_ shower… I know how you feel about me in a downpour.” 

“You’ll never let that go, will you?” Bellamy replies, a small smile playing on his lips, but she just shakes her head. To make this is as soothing for his worn muscles as possible, she makes sure that the water temperature is neither too hot nor too cold before she pulls at his hand, leading him underneath the spray. 

Their calm laughter blends to bounce off the tiled bathroom walls. Then — to her surprise — he embraces her, smoothing his hands across her back until a nice thrill runs up her spine; his lips brush her sensitive throat, causing her to mewl in sudden yet striking desire. 

_Fuck, should they have brought a condom in here?_

But his next question takes them down a different route. “Can I wash your hair?” 

Smiling, Clarke hands him her shampoo bottle without saying a word. While he’s massaging the product into her scalp, she closes her eyes, humming in satisfaction. “Ah, so this is what makes it smell so nice; like vanilla bean,” Bellamy notes, mostly to himself, but she can’t prevent herself from giggling a bit. 

“What else did you think it was?” 

He laughs again, and the sound is enough to make her heart feel fuzzy. “I don’t know. Turn around.” 

As soon as she has turned her back towards him, Bellamy moves her wet hair off her shoulder to drop a lingering kiss to it, and a soft gasp escapes her lips at the sensation. Patiently, he carts his fingers through the golden waves of hair until all of the shampoo has been rinsed from it. They’re so close that his hot breath fans against her neck, making goosebumps form on her skin.

“You can wash my body as well,” she offers, because it will give him an excuse to touch her more.

Knowing exactly what she is up to, Bellamy chuckles against her earlobe. “Oh, can I? Thought you’d never ask,” and for a moment she’s tempted to roll her eyes, but the second he starts to smoothen the soap across her skin, her mind falls into a haze. 

All that she wants to focus on is his hands roaming over her body and his lips as they descend onto her pulse point. When he touches her breasts, Bellamy groans low on his throat before pressing her against the shower wall. The tiles are cool against her heated skin, the glass of the shower cabin completely steamed up, which fits the change of mood.

Reaching back, Clarke runs her hand along his thigh until he presses himself fully against her. She feels his cock growing hard, nudging at her lower back, and even though she senses the wetness pooling between her legs, Bellamy is probably unaware of it. 

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his voice gruff. “I’m not gonna do anything.”

As expected, he has no idea how turned on she is. Maybe he doesn’t remember that the fantasy she had in his car strongly resembles this moment right now, both in location and _position._ Twisting her head a little, Clarke replies, “What if I want you to?” 

A moment passes before she feels him grin against her shoulder. “Then I suppose I could work out _something_.” 

With that, Bellamy lets his hands travel from her breasts to settle at the front of her hips. She blushes hard when the light pressure of his touch has her ass brushing against his erection. But he doesn’t go further down that road, proceeding to move his leg in between her thighs to separate them a little more, so that there’s enough room for his hand there. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” is what he whispers into her ear as he starts to tease her clit with his fingers. Nodding, she whimpers in need and grabs his wrist to guide his fingers deeper into her. Bellamy growls, obviously taken aback by her eagerness. “ _Christ, Princess._ You really aren’t playing.” 

“I don’t know how to.”

Clarke feels him smirk against the back of her neck. 

“Good. Neither do I.” With those words, he begins to fuck her with his fingers, changing the pace from time to time. Although she finds it a bit annoying at first, it’s impossible to complain, especially when he breathes a promise against her throat, “I’ll make you come more than once today.”

“Big talk.” 

Laughing a little, Bellamy crooks his fingers so that they touch the sweet spot inside her that he discovered that night in his car. Clearly, he’s not forgotten what it did to her, and she hasn’t either, but the orgasm that rolls through like a wave her is surprising nonetheless. As she moans, her walls flutter around his fingers, making him groan against her skin.

“ _Bell…I—“_ she whimpers, slowly winding down from the release. After a short minute, he spins her around, keeping a hand on her waist to make sure that she doesn’t slip, which is even more possible now that her legs feel like Jell-O. 

Once she’s regained her breath and balance, Clarke grins at him, watching his dark eyes sparkle with charming pride from getting her off. Despite that she doesn’t usually feed his ego, she wants to right now, so she tells him, “Damn, you’re good at that.”

Because he deserves to know the truth…

Suddenly looking sheepish, Bellamy runs his fingers through his wet hair; the smile that he gives her is lopsided in the most endearing way, and the sight alone is enough to make her heart skip a beat. Overcome by the desire to kiss him, Clarke captures his lips in a searing kiss before letting her hand travel down his chest to wrap around his hard cock.

He gasps into her mouth, has to gather himself for a moment. Then he deepens the kiss, cupping her cheek. When she begins to jerk him off, her strokes slow but firm, his head soon falls against her shoulder. Choking on several moans, Bellamy releases a breath that is quivering, so she has to ask, “It feels good, right?” 

“Yeah… Keep going.” 

But it sounds as if he’s going to cry. Therefore, she brushes her fingers soothingly through his curly hair and stops stroking him, so that he draws back to look at her. “Why’d you stop?” 

She stares at him, wondering how on earth he’s acting all oblivious to his own emotion. “You seem… a bit overwhelmed.”

Even though he laughs at that, there are tears clinging to the otherwise warm sound. “I _am_ overwhelmed, because sixteen-year-old me thought about this all the time and was ashamed of it. I was so damn sure that you’d _never_ touch me like this. Of course I’m overwhelmed.” 

_He’s been thinking about this since he was sixteen?_

A few moments pass in intense silence, their eyes searching one another. Smiling in reassurance, Clarke wraps her hand around his length again, watches as his eyes close in pleasure. Now, she strokes him until he finishes into her palm, kissing her shoulder while he lets go. When he pulls back, his freckled cheeks are tinted light pink and he worries his lower lip. 

“Sorry…”

Her fingertips splaying across his cheekbone, Clarke replies, “For what?” and although he opens his mouth to say something, no words emerge. Instead, he reaches over to turn off the water, so that they don’t waste any more of it. 

They spend a good minute drying each other’s bodies with the fluffy towels while they talk about the football game. Grinning as she brings the towel to his hair, Clarke says, “Well, I liked the pass you made at Miller.”

Bellamy chokes on nothing; then proceeds to crack up a bit, though he seems nervous. “ _The pass I made?_ ”

But Clarke doesn’t become flustered by his response. In fact, the grin on her lips only turns brighter. “Come on. He’s hot. Bet you can’t tell me otherwise.” 

For seemingly no reason at all, Bellamy turns his head away once she’s said that, which fails to hide anything from her. She’s far from stupid, especially when it comes to knowing him. He clenches his jaw if only to swallow hard enough that his Adam’s apple visibly bobs. Sighing, he murmurs, “… Wow, you see right through me, huh?”

Her heart drops. A little scared now, she reaches for his wrist; to her relief, he lets her grab it. “Bellamy, I didn’t— I’m sorry. I know who you are. You don’t have to explain anything.” 

When she’s said that — to her utter surprise — Bellamy embraces her, releasing a couple heavy breaths onto her neck. “Don’t feel bad. I’m bi, it’s—“ he tumbles over the words, and his sentence is cut off by tears, which has panic flaring in her veins until he continues, “God, I’ve never said it out loud before.”

Drawing back, Clarke caresses his temple and lets him cry. “It feels amazing, doesn’t it?”

She still remembers what an immense relief it was to come out to herself for the first time. At fifteen, she stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom and verified her bisexuality to herself over and over again. 

_I’m bi. I’m valid. There’s nothing wrong with me._

Then she came out to Bellamy two months later. And now that he’s come out to her, a full circle has been drawn. Although she doesn’t want to tell him this right now, Clarke always had a feeling that he wasn’t straight, which has only intensified over the years, but she’s never wanted to pressure him. This is part of why she felt so guilty a mere minute ago, thinking that she somehow _made_ him come out, even though he wasn’t ready.

“Yeah. I feel so relieved,” he tells her, wiping the last tears off his cheeks. As he chuckles, the sound echoes throughout the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

Later, once they are dry and relaxing in her bed, Bellamy follows through on his earlier promise by eating her out for _half an hour_ , drawing it out to make her orgasm the most powerful one she has ever had.

She giggles in awe when he’s smiling above her again, buries her hand in the messy curls of his hair. “You’re amazing.”

Grinning, Bellamy winks at her. “Thanks. I try.”

At that reply, she can’t resist the urge to roll her eyes affectionately. Even though he insists that she doesn’t need to reciprocate, Clarke tells him to lie on his stomach. As soon as he has complied, she massages the muscles surrounding his spine to chase the last of the painful strain out of them. He buries his head in the pillow, moaning a little in satisfaction, which causes a smirk to pull at the corner of her mouth. 

“Best. Girlfriend. Ever.”

Chuckling, she repeats his words back to him, “Thanks. I try,” and he snorts. 

When he has flipped onto his back, effectively put an end to the massage, Bellamy brushes a strand of hair behind her ear; his earthy eyes are filled with adoration as he pulls her in for a lingering kiss that gives her heart palpitations. “You remember what we always do on 5 December?” 

Yeah, of course she does. “If you make the hot chocolate, I’ll pick the movie.” 

For the next couple of hours, the bedroom is dedicated to their cozy tradition of hot chocolate and a cheesy Christmas movie. The only difference between this year and all the others is that they’re barely dressed, snuggled up with blankets in their underwear, but nothing about it is weird. From time to time, he also presses a soft kiss into her hair, and her head ends up on his shoulder.

_It’s honestly a glow-up._

“I have a question for you,” Bellamy asks once the main couple in the movie has confessed their love for each other. Pressing the ‘pause’ button, Clarke turns to him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “When did you realize your feelings for me?” 

Actually, it’s difficult to pinpoint an exact moment of revelation or epiphany, because realizing her feelings has happened so gradually that she’s not even noticed it; a true winding road, which ultimately led her in the right direction. After thinking for a full minute, Clarke says, “You remember the scare I had during your first game of the semester?” 

A grin grows on Bellamy’s face. “Oh, the day where we almost kissed? Yeah, I think I recall.” 

For that use of irony, Clarke gives him a light punch on the shoulder. When he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her in close to kiss her, she finds herself thinking back to that specific day in September.

His helmet fell off during the game, which wouldn’t have been so scary had he not been lying on the ground after being knocked down by an opposing player. Amidst all the turmoil of trying to get their hands on the ball — despite the protesting whistle of the referee — the other players, including some of his own teammates, stepped all over him.

When everyone finally realized what was going on, Bellamy was in a fetus position on the grassy ground, protecting the back of his head with his hands. She remembers almost flying from her seat to get to him and shouting his name, but Charles Pike held her back.

_“He’s fine, Miss Griffin. Look, he’s getting up now.”_

_Her eyes like lightning, Clarke tore her arm free of his grip. “I’ll make that judgment myself, thank you.”_

But he threatened her with a week’s worth of detention for disrupting the game if she went out there, so even though she didn’t like it she had to wait until the game ended to do anything. By the time the last seconds ran out, the emotions had caused so much hammock inside her that as soon as she wrapped her arms around him, she burst into tears. 

And he pulled her off the field so that they could hug in private by the East entrance of the school. 

 _“Hey, I’m okay,_ ” _is what he whispered into her ear, his voice soothing like honey. “Nothing happened.” Then he wiped the tears off her cheeks using his thumbs and offered her a gentle smile, which did little to calm her down._

_“Your helmet fell off! You could’ve—“_

She hadn’t dared to finish that sentence. Although it’s a rare occurrence, stories are told in the media of star football players whose careers have been brought to an abrupt end because of a head or neck injury they sustained during a game. Of course, maybe she did overact a bit, but she couldn’t see that at the time. 

_Once again, Bellamy drew her close, which allowed her to bury her nose in his neck. As always, the scent of his skin after a game was mostly overpowered by sweat, but she couldn’t care less. Running a single finger down the back of her neck, he had her looking at him; and just like this, his eyes were locked on hers._

_“I’m alright, Princess.”_

Did she think about kissing him? No, not then — not until he leaned his forehead against hers in comfort, and the tips of their noses were brushing, their lips hovering less than an inch from one another. Suddenly she could count the bronze stars across his cheeks and every single one of his long eyelashes. Clarke remembers how her heart was racing, beating a tattoo against her ribcage, because she could feel his breath on her skin. At one point their lips even grazed, but before any of them would act on the strong desire and close the distance, she turned her head away.

_Her hand still resting on his neck, she managed to murmur, “I… I have to go.”_

_Taking a small step back, Bellamy ran his fingers through his hair, sending her a forced smile to hide his disappointment. “Okay… Wait for me?”_

_Though she didn’t want to meet his eyes, Clarke found it even more difficult to look away for some reason. She worried her lower lip before saying, all apologetic, “I have a date.”_

Finn had invited her to the movies after school, and she really didn’t want to blow him off. But she noticed the hurt in Bellamy’s dark eyes at her words, so even though he didn’t try to talk her out of going, she wanted nothing more than to drive with him to Target like always. Ark High lost the game by six points, and he probably needed the cheering up.

But at the same time she couldn’t blow Finn off like that, not without feeling like a terrible person. It’s safe to say that she’s never been more uninterested in a movie than she was that night, as her mind wasn’t really present. For 110 minutes, she just sat there picturing Bellamy eating ice cream on his bed alone and trying not to think about what would’ve happened if they’d really kissed.

“I was convinced that you didn’t like me after that,” Bellamy admits. “My sister made sure to note how miserable I looked all evening.” 

Locking her eyes onto his, Clarke teases, “I’m pretty sure you looked hot as always,” and he groans despite his smile, muttering something incoherent under his breath. It’s a bit funny that he has this reaction to her flirting with him, because she’s pretty sure that she has been low-key flirting with him since their freshman year. 

“I’ve been attracted to you for _years,_ ” is her next confession. “But you were off limits. I loved our friendship, and I was scared of what would happen if I gambled with it, so I just… I suppressed it, I guess.”

After staring at her for half a minute, Bellamy leans down to kiss her throat, and to her slight surprise it doesn’t take more than that for anticipation to sizzle in the pit of her stomach again. When she whimpers in need, he recognizes it, so he pulls back and captures her lips in a real, deep kiss, which steals her breath right away. _Fuck…_

Because they’re only wearing their underwear, it wouldn’t take them long to undress again, but Bellamy breaks the kiss, much to her dismay, and teases her by moving his face further away once she tries to kiss him. It makes her pout, which seems to amuse him even more, since he chuckles as he presses a fingertip to her bottom lip. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

Her jaw slacks at the request. “Huh? Bell, you know what I want.” 

Of course he does, but he makes sure to tell her that that’s not the point. “Listen, Clarke. I want you to be so comfortable with me that you can freely express your desire, no matter what it might be, alright? If you’ve concealed your needs for so long, you’ve gotta practice, my friend.”

Clarke laughs a little, raises one eyebrow at him. “Oh, and the same thing doesn’t go for you? Because I don’t remember you calling me up in August and telling me that you wanted to fuck me on the hood of your car in the pouring rain.”

At her sassy response, a little bit of heat rises to Bellamy’s freckled cheeks. “No, because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Our _friendship_ was at stake, Princess.” 

She combs her fingers through his soft hair, scoots closer until the tips of their noses graze. Then she exhales, “I know. I’m also kinda glad that you didn’t tell me, because figuring it out on my own is a lot more exciting.” With those words and a sly smirk, Clarke rolls on top of him without warning, which causes his breath to catch in his throat.

“You like watching me above you,” is what she concludes, and the words seem to pull the corners of his mouth upwards into a boyish smile before he cracks up.

“Oh, right, because that’s not _at all_ evident. You’re such a brilliant detective.” 

As she grinds her hips against his, Clarke fires back in full-on amusement, “Shut up, Bell.” 

This is something that she’s always loved about their friendship; the easy kind of banter that makes them laugh each day, and there’s no way that it’s ever going to stop. Chuckling, she raises herself up off his body enough to drag his black briefs down. Once she has removed her own panties, she worries her lower lip as her heart does somersaults in her ribcage. 

“Will you help me?” she mumbles, trying not to be embarrassed.

But Bellamy just smiles in reassurance, the warmth of it rising to his dark eyes. “Of course. You think it’ll be easier if I sit?” 

After a moment, Clarke nods. The only time she’s ridden him was in his car, and he was sitting in the driver’s seat, then, so if he was in the same position maybe it won’t feel unfamiliar to her. “Yeah. At first.” 

“Shit, we’re almost out of condoms,” Bellamy remarks as he pulls one from the box. When he has rolled it on, she smiles, placing her hands at the back of his neck before stating that they just need to buy some new ones. They’re dating now, she reminds him, so unless they change their method of birth control condom-purchasing is something that they have to do on the regular. 

Being a couple comes with a certain number of new responsibilities.

He laughs against her mouth while she slowly sinks down on his length, and as soon as he is buried fully within her, he groans against her shoulder. No matter how many times they do this, the sensation never quite the same; maybe that’s way it’s so amazing. With him, she doesn’t even feel self-conscious, hence why she doesn’t try to be quiet. In this position, she is completely in control, which has confidence sparking in her every bone.

“Fuck, Princess,” Bellamy curses, wrapping his fingers in her hair when she changes the pace by rolling her hips harder against his. Then he surrenders, lying down on his back while keeping his warm hands on her back to support her. “Riding me so well.”

Despite the abrupt change of angle, Clarke doesn’t stop. Messing a little with his hair, she grins against his lips before thrusting again. Like this, his praise is soon reduced to moans, and after a couple minute he has to flip them over in order to last. She has realized that it’s no use telling him that it’s okay for him to come, because he never lets up without a fight. 

“This turns you on, huh?” she manages while he’s fucking into her, making his final thrusts as deep and hard as possible. Once she’s said this, however, he suddenly comes apart with a load moan. Clarke almost chuckles but contains herself, because she doesn’t want to make him embarrassed. 

Then he laughs himself, brushing his fingertips through the back of his hair as he chuckles, “No shit,” and she joins in the amusement without shame. Never in a million years did she imagine that having sex with him would be so _fun._  

Bellamy kisses her lips, her jawline and throat while he’s lingering inside her. Between the kissing, their eyes explore one another for the thousandth time. When he is forced to pull out of her, he discards of the condom and cleans himself up swiftly so that their mandatory cuddling session isn’t delayed more than necessary. 

“Just think about how great our sex life will be in ten years, when we’ve gotten used to it,” is what he murmurs, bringing her close by the waist. At his words, her heart skips a couple beats, so she has to kiss him to combat her own fluster.

_Ten years? TEN YEARS! He said that!_

Also, they have a sex life now, apparently. Clarke loves the sound of that.

As if he hadn’t already made her emotionally compromised, Bellamy nuzzles her cheek, chuckling, “You’re fucking cool, Griffin,” which has a powerful wave of affection surging through her chest and tears slowly building in her throat as her mind flashes back four years. When she sniffles, he lifts her chin to look at her, his brow furrowed in worry.

“What?” 

Blushing, Clarke pushes a little at his chest. “You know that’s the first thing you ever said to me, you dork. You can’t just drop the feels on me like that.”

 _You’re fucking cool, Griffin_ was a casual comment he made after her class presentation in social studies about the Stonewall riots. That day he’d also sat down next to her in the cafeteria, which was the beginning of an era. 

And the most precious friendship she’s ever had.

“Well, I’m gonna put that in my vows then.”

As expected, the blush in her cheeks deepens. With no real heat, she mumbles, “If you don’t shut the fuck up—“ 

“Okay! No spoilers, I get it.”

That’s right… _No spoilers._

 


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, everyone! this is the very last part of this fic: THE EPILOGUE! i want to thank you all so much for the endless support and i hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as i have loved writing it. i'm contemplating writing a prequel to this fic, too, because you know, the idea of letting this fic go actually hurts my heart! so please let me know in the comments if you're interested in that, and if enough people want it, then i'll think about it some more
> 
> please excuse if there are any mistakes that have gone unnoticed. and if i suck at writing epilogues (i've never done this before) bear with me <3

_When he pulled into the parking lot, his heart pounding against his ribcage as though it were a wild animal trying to claw its way out, Bellamy avoided looking at her altogether. In the beginning, he had tried to apologize, hoping that it would work as a Band-Aid to repair the damage that he had just inflicted upon their friendship; upon her… but it had soon dawned on him that there was nothing left to do than let the truth emerge._

_Still, this wasn’t going to come out easily._

_The poorly-lit parking lot was almost deserted at this hour, which made the situation all the more terrifying, and it didn’t help either, that he could sense Clarke’s eyes lingering on him. Most likely, she was questioning why he could be thinking of food right now, when their friendship was in limbo._

_But he wasn’t thinking of food._

_In fact, the only thing on his mind for the past half hour had been the vivid, unforgettable image of Clarke with her hand between her legs; how her lips parted and quivered around an inaudible moan as she came apart. Now, he was doing everything in his power to banish the memory, yet it just kept searing, thriving, no matter how ashamed he felt about it._

_He knew he had to tell her everything; otherwise the guilt wouldn’t hesitate to devour him. Clenching his fists in a desperate attempt to control himself, Bellamy breathed, “I watched you. I saw you come, and I couldn’t look away. I imagined how wet you were, wished it was because of me… Does that make me a creep? Yeah. It does. Because I’m your best friend, and you don’t think about me like that.”_

_It was the truth. And his heart was the least helpful thing in the world, pumping thick guilt through his body instead of blood, making him feel as though he was going to throw up._

_But then she spoke, her voice a mere whisper in the dim-lit car, “You couldn’t be more wrong.”_

_Oh, he had to have misheard that. Because there was no way—while he tried to convince himself that his ears were playing a cruel trick on him, Clarke leant forward, swallowing hard as she unfastened his seatbelt. She’d taken off her own, too, he noticed, and now she was gazing at him through her long eyelashes, climbing into his lap._

_Shit…_

_He only realized what was happening when he felt her fingertips, delicate as ever, spread across his cheek, her warm breath ghosting over his lips. Then she brushed her thumb over his Adam’s apple, which had just bobbed on its own accord, trying to keep the nervousness at bay. It felt like an eternity passed with them sitting like that, the air between them growing dense with an unfamiliar emotion._

_Desire. Yeah, that was probably it._

_Clarke buried her fingertips in his hair, causing a sudden rush of courage to push him forward and capture her lips in a tentative kiss. Maybe he’d only get this one chance in his life to do it, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to mess it up. No, she deserved the real deal._

Bellamy still remembers how her velvet lips tasted slightly of peppermint, how unreal it felt to hear her moan for the first time and know that it was because of him. Of course, he had previously dared to imagine everything they did that night, shamefully late at night in his bedroom where he couldn’t suppress the fantasies any longer.

But slipping his fingers into her soaked heat for the first time was mind-numbing like nothing he had ever experienced. He remembers feeling triumphant every time she moaned and shuddered with strong pleasure, although he was still convinced that he’d wake up at some point to find himself embarrassingly hard and alone in his bed.

But he didn’t. 

For that very reason, this parking lot will always mean the world to him; it’s the place where his dreams became reality. Tonight, however, he’s here on a mission that he has to complete before the store closes. After all, it’s past 1 AM…

By now, he knows this particular Target like his own back pocket. For the past four years, he has come here every week with Clarke to raid the aisles for the best, most shameful snacks in America. This time, though, he is here for one specific item, and it doesn’t take him long to find it after scurrying through the rows of Ben & Jerry’s in the ice cream box: _Chocolate Shake It —_ a new flavor that they’ve both been dying to try out. 

A middle-aged woman with square glasses is sitting at the register, visibly bored by the lack of customers, so when she notices Bellamy she peers at him, sending him a friendly smile as he hands her the pint of ice cream. 

Keen to talk, the woman says, “Ah, you got a pregnant girl at home?”

Bellamy senses his cheeks burn with sudden heat. Scratching the back of his neck, sheepish, he tries to find the right thing to say. Maybe if he didn’t look like he was much older than nineteen, the woman wouldn’t have asked such a question. 

In the end, he manages a nervous smile, embarrassment thriving in his stomach. “No, ma’am. She just really loves ice cream.” Ready to leave, he pays for the late night snack as fast as possible, shooting a quick smile at the apologetic lady. 

Even though he wants to forget everything about the question that the cashier asked, once he’s driving back to the Griffin residence his thoughts start to spur out of control until they reach the illogical realm of ‘ _oh my god, maybe Clarke is pregnant’_ , which is a part of his brain that he never knew existed. 

Since they started having sex last year, there has always been an active part of his brain dedicated to screaming: _‘PROTECTION!’_ to ensure that there’s no chance of him ever forgetting it, so while he’s been afraid of getting her pregnant in the past, he’s never actually _believed_ that he could have done it.

It’s terrifying despite how irrational he knows it is, and he finds himself resenting the poor Target cashier for putting the idea in his head.

Despite that he’s unable to see his own face, Bellamy is certain that there’s something strange about his entire demeanor when he has returned to Clarke’s bedroom with the requested ice cream, because she quirks up an eyebrow right away. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

She’s wearing a t-shirt that used to be his, a Prussian blue one just a few shades darker than her eyes, but no pants, and with a sketchpad in front of her on the bed he knows that she’s in her best element. Looking at her, he suddenly feels foolish for letting his thoughts run out of control, so he tries to play it off as nothing serious. “Oh, I was just thinking about something that the cashier said.” 

“What? Did they flirt with you?” Now, Clarke seems amused, if anything, her eyes shining with new, bright sparks. 

Running a hand through his hair, Bellamy considers just telling her ‘no’ without explaining it further, but there’s no way she’d accept that given her peaked curiosity. After about half a minute of silence, he breathes, “No, she thought I had a pregnant girlfriend. You know, because of the whole ‘buying ice cream at 1 AM’ thing.”

For a brief moment, her smile falters, which manages to set his mind into full-flung panic mode. Then she motions for him to sit down next to her. He does so, albeit with some apprehension lingering in his veins. “I have something to tell you…” she begins, the smile still playing on her lips despite her serious tone of voice. “I’m not pregnant.”

Exhaling in pure relief, Bellamy clutches his chest. “Fuck you, honestly—“ 

She laughs, radiant as ever. After she finally manages to break through the solid, frozen surface of the chocolate ice cream, she feeds him the first bit of it with her spoon like some sort of peace offering. “You know I _can’t_ be, Bell. My period ended two days ago. There’s just no way.” 

Deep down (or actually, not that deep down) he realized that her being pregnant was near-impossible unless the period she just had wasn’t a real period, but Clarke knows her body and he always trusts her with it. Shortly after they began dating, she had him install a cycle tracking app on his phone, updated it with all her info and told him to keep an eye on it. That way he doesn’t constantly have to ask her. Also, he’s been able to surprise her with chocolate on a few occasions.

He kisses her temple, placing his hand to her bare inner thigh. Once she has placed the pint of ice cream on the nightstand, Clarke turns towards him and gives him a soft, lingering kiss carrying the rich taste of chocolate.

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t want kids someday, it’s just…” 

_I want to marry you first._

Even in his heart, Bellamy knows that the ideal dream of marrying your high school sweetheart and sharing a perfect life with them is unrealistic, but that does not stop him from wanting it. Also, maybe he and Clarke have a better chance at achieving said dream because their romantic and sexual relationship is built upon the solid foundation that is a healthy, long-lasting friendship. Now, even though they’ve been together officially for more than a year, they still call each other ‘best friend’ as much as they did before.

When he trails off, her cheeks become rosy pink, which has him wondering whether she knows him well enough to figure out what he wanted to say. In the end, she doesn’t need to answer, and they just eat the rest of the ice cream while listening to the mixtape he made for her last year.

 

_When the night has come_

_And the land is dark_

_And the moon is the only light we'll see_

_No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid_

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me._

* * *

 

_2 years later_

Golden rays of sunlight reach through the sheer curtains, falling onto their bare skin. Clarke, who has been awake for the past ten minutes, scoots closer to the man sleeping beside her, wraps her arms around his waist. As the only item of clothing besides her lace panties, she is wearing his old football jersey with Ark High written in scarlet, block letters against the navy background. 

He grunts, stirring a little when she places a lingering kiss to his shoulder. Feeling playful, she moves on top of him once he has rolled onto his back, his smile dazed by sleepiness. “Up early today, Princess?”   

“I beat you.” 

At the comment, he grins boyishly. “By how much?” 

“Just ten minutes.” Usually, he rouses before her, since he is the morning person, so the first scent that stimulates her senses at the beginning of the day is the familiar mix of coffee and eggs being fried and scrambled.

Then Bellamy reaches for her left hand, pulls it to his mouth to kiss it while he caresses the finger that carries the ring; a beautiful diamond gleams in the middle of it, though it is surrounded by smaller diamonds and sapphires that alternate around the band on either side of it. If she were to take it off (which will _never_ happen), the word ‘ _Princess’_ would be revealed, written in neat, curved handwriting on the inside of the silver band.

Every time Clarke looks at it, which is often considering how her eyes have been drawn to it since he placed it on her finger, a stream of blissful memories flourish in her mind: She thinks about the countless early mornings spent in his car, listening to mixtapes on the old car radio; about afternoons in her bedroom, lying on the rug as the sun sunk beneath the hills, listening to his warm laughter.

But more than anything she recalls the starry, magical night last year on which he lured her back to the Ark High football field, dressed in his finest clothing, and asked him to marry her.

She said ‘yes’ right away, as soon as he pulled the small velvet box from his inner pocket, before his knee hit the ground. 

_“Wow. I had a whole speech prepared. Words are overrated, I guess?” he beamed at her, yet she shook her head though the happy tears, claiming that they were not. At least not in this case…_

Still, their long relationship wasn’t built on words, because words are nothing if there is no affection behind them: no touches, smiles or understanding. Determined to make this moment as true to their relationship as possible, she pulled him to his feet so that he could utter the words while their foreheads leaned against one another. Before that night, Clarke didn’t know what it felt like to cry of happiness.

_“I want to make you as happy as you have made me.”_

Once he’d said this, she managed to choke out that he had already reached that goal and needed a new one, so then he changed it to: _“I want us to be a family.”_ Her heart melted on the spot. For the last two years, they have been busy molding their life together in this small yet cozy apartment off the Ark U campus; they have filled it to the brim with his books and her art until it oozed of magic. 

Living with him is like living in a dream, even though it hasn’t always been easy. 

On the day of the proposal, he murmured, “ _I bought the ring after our first fight. After you came back, because I realized then that I wanted nothing more than keep you in my life.”_

Now, she hardly remembers what that first fight was about, but it was the most chaos they had ever experienced together, and therefore it felt like a flood rolling in to destroy everything they had been building since they met. She remembers running out into the night, slamming the front door behind her. For a few minutes she just stood there in the parking lot of the apartment building, hugging herself to shield off the cold winds. Then she took a walk around the town, back to their old high school, where she sat on the curb in front of the East entrance, murmuring the lyrics to _Greek Tragedy._

_I hate this feeling_

_But I love this part_

_She really wants to make it work_

_And I clearly want to let it start_

_We'll build a waterslide_

_As soon as I get home._

The words had never made much sense to her before that night. But following her first real fight with the man that she loved — her best friend — the feeling of believing so much in a relationship that you have the strength to work through the rough parts of it was relatable like never before.

In the end, there’s so no such thing as a perfect relationship, but in her opinion, the one she and Bellamy has is pretty damn close, and that’s all she needs.

(Bellamy sobbed of relief when she returned to the apartment that night, apologized repeatedly and she did, too. Little did they know that it would only strengthen their bond…)

“Tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” Bellamy gazes at her over the edge of his coffee mug, and Clarke senses heat rise to her cheeks. For the past month, every time someone has mentioned the wedding, her heart has proved its ability to do somersaults.

“Can’t wait.” 

Out of habit, they tend to spend their Saturdays in bed, doing their separate work, cuddling or having sex. Tomorrow, however, they won’t be able to, because at 10 AM, her parents are arriving to pick her up and drive her to the place where she’ll be transformed into a bride.

It’s still a little weird to think about, although it’s mostly exciting. Also, there’s a certain aspect of awe to it considering that it’s finally happening; she’s marrying Bellamy, and she’s sure it’s going to be the best day of her life. Apparently, her parents have made a bet about who will shed the first tears tomorrow — based on the fact that they were both tearful at the engagement this could go either way.

“Your dad has texted me 40 times in the past two days. Did you teach him how to use emojis?” 

Clarke grins. “Nope. He’s always done that.” Then she throws a glance over Bellamy’s shoulder to look at his phone, and though she isn’t able to glimpse much before he turns it away from her view, she sees that the last text reads.

 

 _I will probably say this_ 💯 _times_

_tomorrow, but I love you. I couldn’t have_

_asked for anyone better to be my daughter’s_

_companion. Abby and I are so proud_ 😊

_🎉_

 

At once, her chest floods with affection for her dad, not only because of his undeniable love for Bellamy, but for his use of gender-neutral nouns. Since she came out to her parents many years ago, her parents have put in effort to be inclusive about her bisexuality, and despite a few slip-ups, they’ve done great. After her engagement with Bellamy, she felt compelled to emphasize that this didn’t make her, nor her soon-to-be husband for that matter, straight. And they understood this, too.

“This is our last full day as boyfriend and girlfriend, can you believe that?”

Smiling, Bellamy offers his the last blueberry that had fallen off his small stack of pancakes. “Nah, sometimes I still catch myself thinking that this is all just a dream, that I will wake up in my teenage room with a broken heart.” 

At that admission, Clarke’s heart swells in her ribcage until it softens. Then she leans in to kiss his cheek, entangling her leg with his. “I promise you, this is real. It’s happening. And nothing could make me happier.” 

In spite of everything Clarke doesn’t realize that her biggest dream is about to come true before she is wearing the dress. Enchanted by her own reflection, she can’t take her eyes off the mirror for long, awestruck from the brightness of the woman — the _bride_ — looking back at her. Behind her, she can hear her mom and dad both sniffling (no one won the bet, then…), so she finally turns around to face them.

“How do I look?” she giggles, unable and unwilling to fight the bliss bubbling in her stomach, simmering with pride. 

Through his tears, Jake Griffin speaks up first, but the words seem to stick to his throat slightly. “Breathtakingly happy. I have never seen you so—“ 

Next to him, his wife wipes at her eyes with a Kleenex. Clarke’s heart softens as affection for her parents gushes from it, so she rushes to embrace them. A powerful wave of nostalgia rolls over her as their comforting scent greets her nostrils; sure, they might have worked a lot more than the average parent, but they never neglected her, never let her believe for one second that they didn’t love her. 

And when Bellamy entered her life, they welcomed him with open arms as though he were their own son. When she fell in love with him, they rejoiced. 

Before she can form any words, there is a knock on the door and she is forced to let go of them. “Come in!” 

To her utter surprise, the person who walks through the door is John Murphy, Bellamy’s old football teammate, wearing a suit and tie, which is… weird, to say the least, because Murphy is probably the least formal person that Clarke has ever known. For a couple seconds he simply stands in the doorway, taking in the new sight of the woman who will soon become his friend’s wife.

Then his lips curve into a rare smile. “Bellamy hasn’t insulted me for three hours, it’s clear that he has other, more important things on his mind. He wanted me to bring you this short note from him.”

 _Well, that’s surprising._ Reaching out, Clarke takes the small lilac envelope that Murphy hands to her, tells him thanks and opens it — her hands trembling a little, for some reason — as soon as he has left.

 

_Clarke,_

_I can’t believe that we’re here, finally; the road to this day has been long and winding, yet so riddled with precious memories. We know each other like the back of our hands, but even after all this time I wouldn’t be able to tell you how on earth we got here. I am sure of a couple things, though: You look beautiful as ever, I love you and I can’t wait to marry you._

_One hour to go. I’ll see you at the place where our next adventure begins._

_\- Your (handsome, of course) groom._

 

Clarke is torn between the desire to chuckle and sob, so she does a mix of both, holding the letter close to her chest. To her immense relief, neither of her parents asks her to reveal what she’s just read — despite their obvious curiosity, since they probably are aware that it’s too personal for her to share.

As she looks at the written words again, the happiness in her chest is given new power; it fills her chest, makes her feel as though not even the strongest wind or current can knock her off her feet — the memories that Bellamy implied in the letter swirl through her mind and explode like fireworks, vibrant and beautiful.

 

The calm waves rolling onto the shore mix with the strings violin strings, which are played to produce the melody of ‘Saturn’ by Sleeping at Last. Though tears are pushing against her throat, she doesn’t care if they surface, fixing her eyes onto Bellamy at the end of the aisle and holding her dad’s arm tight.

This is the walk to a new, exciting chapter, or — as he wrote in the letter — an adventure that neither of them could have foreseen when they were teenagers, scared of losing each other to the strong feelings that they didn’t know were mutual. Now, gazing at him, she sees love painted in his earthy gaze, which are full of tears, and in the gentle curve of his lips; the smile that she has always adored. 

Briefly, her mind flashes back to that rainy day four years ago where she ran across the football field, leapt into his strong arms. Even though her dad is walking beside her right now, and their pace is much slower, the feeling that swells in her heart is very much the same; the thrill of excitement, of bliss. 

“I wish you so much happiness,” her dad says as he lets go of her arm, smiling at both of them before walking to join his wife in the front row.

Behind Zeke, their pastor for the day, the August sun is beaming above the horizon, casting its rays onto the gleaming surface of the ocean. Tearing her eyes from Bellamy’s for just a moment, Clarke looks at his high school teammate who is beaming at both of them, his wide smile crooked. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to — _finally, thank goodness_ — unite these two wonderful people.” 

Chuckles run through the crowd of wedding guests, but they quickly fall silent when Zeke tells Bellamy to begin his vows. 

In front of her, he radiates more powerfully than she has ever seen, making her heart leap in her chest.

Keeping his soft eyes locked on hers, he clears his throat, then begins, “I will spare everyone the many details of our story, because it is simply too long and complex to tell. But I do want to highlight a specific moment, because for a long time I thought that this was when I fell in love with you. We were fifteen years old, lying on our backs on the rug in your bedroom…” he grins, pauses for a moment to drink her in.

“We were listening to my dad’s old records that I’d stolen from a box in the basement.” Briefly, Bellamy throws a look at Aurora, his mom, who is looking tearful yet surprised at this admission. “I was crying. Silently. Then your hand reached out to touch mine for the first time, and as cheesy as it sounds, I think our hearts touched, too… Now, why am I telling you this? Why did I pick this moment and not any other? Why did I think that this was the moment I fell in love with you, Clarke? I can’t tell you.” 

Though she can’t see anyone but him right now, she imagines how confused everyone must be. Still, she has an _idea_ of what he means, and this idea is proven correct when he continues, “Because _every single moment_ that we have shared over the years, it has been a part of the reason why I fell in love with you. Therefore, it is impossible to pinpoint when I knew or when it happened. All I know is that it’s real, as it always has been, and it always will be.”

To her amazement, the urge to cry that she experienced mere minutes ago has disappeared. Of course, she is touched, but the emotion and the love that is coursing through her seems to have implemented on her heart in such a way that not even tears can get to her. This is the perfect state to be in, and she sighs, giving Bellamy’s warm hands a tight squeeze. 

_I’m here. We’re here._

Then Zeke turns his attention towards her, as expectant as everyone else on the beach. Excited that she — like her soon-to-be husband, against her regular abilities — has learned her vows by heart. 

“From when I was a kid, I’ve always conveyed my feelings through art, which is why I rarely let anyone see it, not even you, Bell. I keep it hidden, even though I don’t need to, mostly out of habit, really. When I was fourteen, I started to draw _you._ Not just literally, but I also drew everything you showed me, everything you taught me about life. The songs we listened to in your old truck are splattered across the pages of my sketchbook; the infinite pints of ice cream and all of the love that I was too afraid to express.”

Bellamy is gazing at her, his dark eyes still shining on her. At the next moment, Clarke thinks she hears her mom’s quiet sniffle in the front row.

Taking a breath, she carries on, “I made all the wrong decisions trying to run from my feelings, to pretend that they didn’t exist, but my drawings are proof of the fact that I was lying to myself. Sure, we might have gotten together in a way that’s,” glancing at the crowd, Clarke clears her throat, “unconventional. But you are my best friend. My best friend that I am marrying today, with whom I want to spend the rest of my life.”

In all earnestness, it already seems as if she has spent a lifetime with Bellamy, because the most important years of her life are the ones after she got to know him. 

Since she met him, her life has been so much happier. This is not to say that their story has been a fairytale, by any means, but she wouldn’t want to change a thing; every moment of doubt and longing has laid down the pathway towards _this._

The start of their marriage; the beginning of a whole new era.

  

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me what you think <33 comments and kudos mean the world to me.


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